


we won't run (we can fight)

by AmyDancepantsPeralta



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: B99 Summer 2019 Fic Exchange, F/M, Fluff, Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago Fluff, King Vulture is ruining Brooklyne, Modern Medieval AU, Mutual pining because it’s sooo good, Peraltiago, Pine City, Population .. you, The fight for better begins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-07-10 01:02:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19897297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyDancepantsPeralta/pseuds/AmyDancepantsPeralta
Summary: “Be careful who you give your midnights to, my darling.  Midnights are for talking - for old friends and new; for truth andneverfor lies.  When you’ve only got the stars to illuminate, everything else falls away.  Midnights are for confessions.”  Her hand falls to Amy’s shoulder, squeezing gently.  “They’re for falling in love.”Well that’s just ridiculous.She and Jake were definitely not falling in love.Oh.* Modern Medieval AU where the evil King Vulture is ruining Brooklyne.  Amy and Jake work together to take him DOWN.*





	1. find me where the wild things are

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SwirlsOfBlueJay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwirlsOfBlueJay/gifts).



> Hi there @SwirlsOfBlueJay, I am (finally) here with your challenge fic! Thank you for all the prompts - I chose the MedievalAU and I can only hope that I have done this justice! This is a brand new genre for me so ... fingers crossed! 
> 
> Huge thank you's to @kamelea, @kufikiria and @startofamoment for helping me out with this fic! 🙌 🙌 Another thank you for @elsaclack and @startofamoment for putting this challenge together - so many new fics out there, it's been great 😃
> 
> Here goes nothing!

# we won’t run (we can fight)

**part one - find me where the wild things are**

The length of the day was beginning to weigh on Amy, and she lets out a heavy sigh as she continues to trudge through the familiar mixture of dirt and marsh. The ground feels wet under her feet, boots sinking in to the earth with a squelch, leaving telltale footprints behind despite her best efforts to avoid it. Droplets of rain from earlier in the day continue to fall onto her cloak, hitting the fabric with a persistent thud after their free-fall from the trees above.

Today’s reconnaissance, like the previous three days, hadn’t proved to be very successful. 

Her home was a small village named Fumera, a cog in the wheel of five other villages that made up the province of Brooklyne. Life had been good: fair and just, until their beloved King Holt had suddenly (and mysteriously) passed away and a deceitful knight had snatched the crown, declaring himself the new ruler with no concern for consequence. 

King Pembroke was his name, but to Amy and her fellow villagers, he had become known as The Vulture - coined from the actions of his minions; notorious for circling the various precincts, attacking at their weakest moments and stripping them of all that brings joy. Under his rule, they had pilfered their riches, leaving all with only the barest of necessities, and had begun capturing fair maidens from their homes - pulling them back to the castle to ‘add to his collection’. One by one, their homes had been picked to pieces, and it was beginning to be difficult to remember a time when life seemed prosperous for the people of Fumera and their neighbouring villages. 

Over the past few months, Amy had slowly begun building a resistance - a coup, if you will - filled with villagers with various level of skill and determination. Every day had begun and ended with her circling the grounds that surrounded the castle, careful to avoid the various lures and traps that Pembroke’s men had concealed amongst the trees. And every day, until recently that is, she had learnt something new about all the king’s men - and while she knew it would only be a matter of time before she’d have all the information she needed to attack - it was difficult not to feel disheartened at the lack of new information. 

But still, the desire for more keeps her moving forward.

She hears the snap of a branch before her next step has reached the ground, and in an instant Amy is on high alert. _Somebody is behind her._ Careful to maintain her gait, she squares her shoulders slightly, left hand reaching for the dagger she’d tucked into her tunic earlier that day. There was a small flowering shrub up ahead on her right, and Amy plays into the illusion of stopping to admire the bloom, waiting until her predator is closer before whipping to her left, dagger slicing the air as she moves. 

She hears her target gasp before she sees him, a frisson of satisfaction running through her at the knowledge that she’d definitely caught them off guard. 

The first thought that pops into her head is _he’s handsome_ , and she finds herself furrowing her brow in frustration at the instinctive reaction. It didn’t matter if he was handsome. He was sneaking up on her in the middle of the Brooklyne forest. No good could come of this. But still, this enemy was definitely good looking. 

He stands in front of her, hands raised in the air, taking a quick step back as Amy thrusts the dagger forward again. His eyes widen, curly hair flopping onto his forehead as he shakes his head quickly, crying out “Wait! No!”

She narrowed her eyes, turning her chin to the right as she took in more of his appearance. He stands tall, toned arms obvious through the fabric of his clothing. Leather boots riding high up his calves. Dimpled chin dropping as his mouth stays open in alarm. “Wait a minute. _I know you. _You’re Sir Jacob.”__

__

“I think you’ll find that nowadays, I’m just Jake.”

__

Her brows knit together. “You _were_ Sir Jacob. Bravest of the Knights. Protector of the Villages.”

__

He averts his gaze, shrugging slightly before turning back to her. “I think that’s what they used to call me, yes.”

__

“What happened? Did your pile of jewels get too high to sit on?”

__

He recoils slightly, eyes hardening at her question. “Hardly.”

__

There was a time that Amy would have looked up to a man like Sir Jacob. His brevity and charm had been spoken of in many a story, and his loyalty to the kingdom was second to none. And then Pembroke had taken over, and Sir Jacob had merely stood by. The memory of him a week ago sitting high on his horse, resplendent in his armour, as Pembroke’s men ransacked a nearby village flashes into Amy’s mind, and she has to restrain herself from pushing the knife further forward. Instead, she speaks to the guilty one. “What did you mean, they _used_ to call you Sir Jacob?”

__

“They called me that, when I was a knight for the kingdom. But those days are long gone.”

__

“That’s not true.”

__

“I’m afraid it is.”

__

“I’ve got eyes and ears covering every part of that castle. And nobody has said anything about you stepping down.”

__

“Let’s just say, it wouldn’t be in the King’s best interest for the villagers to find out his best knight had declared him a disgrace and walked away from the role.”

__

_Walked away?_ “I’m going to need more explanation.”

__

He winces, taking a careful breath as he leans back slightly. “Listen, is there any way you would consider maybe lowering the dagger a skootch? I know my head isn’t exactly the fairest in the land, but I am rather fond of it and would really prefer to keep it.”

__

Amy narrows her eyes, staring him down for another minute before lowering the dagger slightly, keeping it still near enough for him to know that he wasn’t off the hook just yet. His hands lower as he lets out a relieved sigh, feet shuffling as the adrenaline begins to run through him. 

__

“As I was saying, I used to be Sir Jacob. Until I figured out what Pembroke was doing. And when I tried to warn the others, he tried to get rid of me.”

__

“Get rid of you?”

__

Another wince, one hand running through his hair now that it wasn’t raised in surrender. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure there’s still a bounty out on my head, actually. Luckily, I found out before anybody had a chance to act on it, and I fled the kingdom. I’ve been laying low at a nearby village ever since."

__

“I don’t understand. Why would the King want you dead?”

__

“I’d pledged my allegiance to Brooklyne, and Pembroke had fooled me into thinking that him taking over of the crown was going to be the best possible thing for our province. As it turns out, that couldn’t have been further from the truth. And by then, it was too late for me to overturn him - he’d gotten to too many other men, fed them all the stories he’d once told me.”

__

There was something that still didn’t make sense to Amy. “You’re lying.”

__

“I’m really not.”

__

“I saw you,” she accused, her dagger raising with her voice. “In Truglia. You were on your horse, in your signature black armoury, gold medallion hanging in the middle of your chest. You sat and watched from the edge of the forest as the village was ransacked, and led your horse away when the villagers began to cry for help. I saw it. I saw _you_.”

__

Sir Jacob lets out a heavy sigh, hand returning to rub against his brow as his head hangs low. “You only think you saw me. Truglia is where I’d been hiding. Some of the other men had heard whispers of it, and decided to pay me a visit. One of them dressed as me, to make the other villagers think that I had betrayed them. If I’d shown myself, they would have captured me. I didn’t know what to do.” His voice turns quiet, head hanging lower again. “I’m still not sure I made the right decision.”

__

“You stayed hidden while the village was attacked?”

__

“The locals told me to stay where I was. That they’d been anticipating the assault for weeks now, and were ready to fight. I was frozen in place when I saw one of knights pretending to be me, and by the time I snapped out of it and went to fight, it was too late. Nobody in the village blamed me for what happened, but I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. If it hadn’t been for me, they never would have been targeted.”

__

The regret is obvious in his voice, and before she realises what she’s doing, Amy has lowered her dagger to the ground, reaching one hand out to rest on his shoulder. “The vultures have been attacking everyone in the province. They would have come after Truglia eventually, regardless of your presence.”

__

He raises his head slowly, eyes locking onto hers as he judges her sincerity, and she notices for the first time just how gentle his brown orbs seemed. The small part of her brain that noted his good looks let out a tiny _told you so_ , and she blinks quickly as she snatches her hand away from his shoulder.

__

Seemingly unaware of her internal battle, Sir Jacob smiles down at her. “Thank you for - wait. Did you call Pembroke’s men the _Vultures_?”

__

Amy’s mouth falls open in shock and he laughs - a loud, bold laugh that echoes quickly through the forest - and her hand moves quickly to clasp over his mouth, desperate to muffle the sound before he gave their position away. “Shhhh!” she admonishes.

__

His hands return to their earlier surrender position, voice immediately silenced as he remembers their position amongst the trees, and gingerly Amy removes her hand, letting her filthy glare serve as a warning.

__

“I’m so sorry, I completely forgot where we were for a minute there. That’s just _such_ a good description of those guys. They are absolutely acting like vultures. My only regret is that I didn’t come up with it.”

__

A rush of pride runs through her, and Amy can feel a smile crossing her face. “It _is_ pretty good, isn’t it.”

__

“The best.” He smiles at her, bright and genuine, and damn it if her heart doesn’t skip a tiny beat. _Oh god. This cannot be good news._

__

Desperate to get the conversation back on track, Amy clears her throat. “You still haven’t explained why you were following me.”

__

A sheepish look falls over his face, teeth moving forward to bite his lower lip as he lowers his gaze again. “I, uh … I thought that maybe you were one of the guards. I need to get back to the castle, and I was hoping - ”

__

“That you could take me down, and use my uniform to infiltrate the castle?”

__

“Ahhh … yes, actually.”

__

“Bad news for you, I guess.”

__

He nods. “It was foolish of me to assume. It’s just … I’ve not known a maiden to wear tights and tunics.”

__

Amy can feel her face heating up as a blush runs through her, and she raises her head in defiance. “It’s harder to fight in a dress. Not impossible, but harder.”

__

“I can only imagine.”

__

His earlier statement runs through her mind again, and Amy furrows her brow in confusion. “Wait. If there’s a bounty out on your head, _why_ would you want to get back to the castle?”

__

Sir Jacob’s head turns in the direction of the kingdom, eyes focusing on the unseen as he hunches his shoulders, shaking his head. “My buddy Boyle. You’d know him as Sir Charles. He tried to get out when I did, but Pembroke’s vultures got to him before he could. I’m pretty sure he’s locked up in one of the dungeons. I need to find him. I need to _rescue_ him.”

__

His concern is palpable, and Amy resists the urge to reach out to this man, this stranger she has only known by his official moniker until moments ago. Instead she nods, tucking her dagger back into her tunic as she turns to look in the same direction. “I get it. My best friend Kylie, she lived in Truglia. I was there the day the vultures took on the village, when I thought I saw you.” She pauses as the memories wash over her again. “They took her. Dragged her back to the castle like she was public property.” 

__

He turns his attention back to Amy as she speaks, watching her carefully. “He won’t be doing anything to her. Just wants another jewel in his crown. Something else to show off at all the royal engagements.” His tone is reassuring, but the thought of her friend being forced to attend such events and smile as though absolutely nothing was wrong was enough to make bile rise in Amy’s throat. He continues with a slight shrug. “I know that’s not a great consolation, but you should know that.”

__

Amy nods, grateful for the reassurance. “Thank you, Sir Jacob.”

__

His eyes fall. “Honestly, it’s Jake. Sir Jacob doesn’t exist anymore.”

__

“Okay then. Jake.”

__

“And what about you, Mysterious Warrior Woman of the Woods? What is your name?”

__

Her gaze turns reluctant, part of her mind still cautious of any man that fell under Pembroke’s hand. But there was an instinctual part of her that just _knew_ that this man’s intentions were pure. “My name is Amelia. Lady Amelia, to be precise. But … you can call me Amy. If you want.”

__

His smile is softer this time, concealing his teeth and exposing a small dimple in his cheek instead. “Amy. It’s nice to meet you. Terrifying introduction, but nice all the same.”

__

She resists the urge to let out a giggle, confusion running through her at just how this strange man had managed to push down her defences so quickly. There had been a time, when King Holt was in reign, when someone like Sir Jacob had been the apple of every fair maiden’s eye - herself included. And now that she knew that his presence at the takeover of Truglia was a farce, she could feel herself remembering the legend of Sir Jacob the Brave. He clears his throat, interrupting her thoughts.

__

“Can I ask you, what exactly is your plan to take him down?”

__

She turns to him, a sheepish smile creeping onto her face as she shrugs. “Honestly? I’m really not sure. I think that’s why I keep returning here, night after night. The answer is there, I’m sure of it. I just don’t know what it is yet …. and in the meantime, I keep watch.”

__

He nods. “Same. I don’t know what I’m going to do, I just know that I need to do _something_.”

__

They start walking together, ducking under low branches in unison as they follow the worn down path that Amy had forged over the recent months. He waits another few minutes before speaking again, nervously clearing his throat as he keeps his voice low. “Listen, I know we’ve literally only just met each other. But it’s obvious that we both want to see the King fall to his knees.”

__

Amy nods warily, waiting for Jake to continue. 

__

“I’ve probably got a lot of insider knowledge that you could find useful. And watching you tonight, it’s obvious that you know this forest like the back of your hand. This might be straight up insanity, but I have this crazy instinct that you’re trustworthy. And I can only hope that I’m giving you the same feeling. What I’m suggesting is - why don’t we work together? Pool our resources. Take down The Vulture. Restore Brooklyne to what it used to be.”

__

Amy studies him carefully, taking in the sincerity of his tone as she weighs the pros and cons in her mind. It _would_ make sense. And it had been several days since she’d had a decent lead. Perhaps Jake was the key she had been looking for. And she and Jake could be great together. Nodding, she reaches out her right hand.

__

“Partners?” There’s that smile of his again. _Damn that smile._

__

His hand wraps around hers, skin soft and warm against hers, and they shake hands. “Partners."

__

__

__

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_Meanwhile, in the dungeons of Brooklyne Castle …_

__

The stone is cold underneath Boyle’s feet, the rough edges digging into his skin as moves, counting his steps as he retraces them over and over. If memory serves him correctly, it’s been nineteen days since King Pembroke had thrown him into the dungeon. It’s hard to know for sure, when the sunlight never seems to reach him.

__

His bones ache, the stiffness from the permanently cold air settling into his marrow and he winces as he moves, the chain attached to one leg dragging against the stone. Movement is key, he knows, and if he keeps moving, the voices in his head that keep telling him that nobody is coming for him don’t seem as loud. He knows that isn’t true. He knows that somebody will come for him. He knows _Jake_ will come for him. But it’s been nineteen days, and he’s feeling so very cold.

__

The bar that rests along the outside of his dungeon door slides with a heavy groan, the unmistakeable sound of rust scraping against metal ringing into his ears as the door shifts with a shudder, hinges screaming until the door rests against the frame. Charles looks up from his count, staring blankly as Sir Jason ambles into the room, tray of food in his hand and an amiable smile across his face.

__

“Sir Jason.”

__

“I’ve told you before, Charles. You can call me CJ.”

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“And you could get me out of this dungeon, so I guess we’re both disappointing each other.”=

__

The knight rolls his eyes. “All you gotta do is pledge your allegiance to Pembroke. It’s real easy, and he’s a pretty good guy when you think about it. He let me have a pet horse and everything.”

__

“He’s destroying innocent villages, Jason.”

__

“Those are just stories Jacob made up. That’s why you’re in here, you know. For spreading the lies. King Pembroke told us about those stories. Told us a lot of things, actually. I don’t remember most of it, but I do remember that Jacob was lying.”

__

__

__

“He wasn’t lying. And if you could just let me out of this cuff, I could show you.”

__

“Yeah, and I could show you the secret passage ways they told us about, but you and I both know that I can’t.”=

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_Secret passage ways?_ Charles sighs, holding up an air of resignation as he deliberately drops his head lower. “Just leave my dinner and go, CJ.”=

__

“Ah, there ya go! CJ! I knew you could do it, buddy.” The metal platter hits the ground with a clang and Charles glances over, taking in the familiar stale bread roll and rejected slop, long turned cold and now bordering on inedible. CJ’s feet kick up the dust as he turns to leave, a small cloud covering the tray briefly before Charles raises his head. “Hey, CJ?”

__

The man turns, a blank look on his face. “Yeah?”

__

_Here goes._ “The bread rolls are really hard, and sometimes I wish I could dip my bread into the gravy, just like you showed me. It’s just … it’s really hard without something to cut the bread with, ya know?”

__

CJ frowns, glancing down at the tray before turning his attention back to Charles. “Yeah, that must be hard.”

__

“Something sharp would be really helpful.”

__

He shrugs, frowning as he cocks his head. “Yep, that’s definitely what you need.”

__

Charles lets out a heavy sigh. _He’s never been the brightest._ “Do you … Do you think that maybe you would have a dagger that you could spare?”

__

CJ’s eyebrows raise, shaking his head quickly. “They made me promise that I wouldn’t leave anything behind, Charles. I can’t, I swear.”

__

He nods, eyes dropping to the floor. _Time to change tact._ “It’s alright, I understand. It’s just … all these days in the cell, I’ve been thinking about the error of my ways. And you’re right, King Pembroke really does sound like a good guy. Sir Jacob was obviously telling lies. And I think I’m ready to apologise to the King, really get down on my knees in front of him and beg for forgiveness. It’s just hard to find the right words to beg for my pardon when I’m so hungry.”

__

More clouds of dust are kicked up as CJ walks eagerly into the room, arms stretched out in joy as he moves quickly towards Charles. “Hey, that’s great! I knew you would come around eventually. And don’t worry, King Pembroke is a good guy. He’ll totally forgive you.”

__

“I’d just really like to do it properly, CJ. I just need something sharp that I can cut my bread roll with, and I’ll give it back to you. I’ll even hide it if anyone else comes in before you do. I promise.”

__

His mouth twists as he studies Charles, glancing quickly at the dungeon door before leaning in closer. “Alright. I thought I’d lost my dagger last week, so I took another one from the armoury. But then I found it underneath my pillow, so now I have a spare. I can leave it with you, but you have to _promise_ that you’re only going to use it to cut up the bread.”

__

Charles reaches out his right hand, hooking out his pinky finger in offer of a pinky promise, a currency he knows CJ values more than any oath sworn under any banner. The man hooks his finger quickly, gripping it tightly in a quick shake before releasing. The cool handle of a dagger hits his palm, and Charles is quick to wrap his hand around the base, trying to control the shiver of joy that runs down his spine. He throws on his best earnest look, widening his eyes as he looks up at Sir Jason. “Thank you, CJ.”

__

“You’re welcome, buddy. Bread only, remember?”

__

“I remember.”

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“I’ll come back tomorrow, and take you to the King myself. I can’t wait. That's gonna leave a mark!”

__

Charles nods eagerly, already knowing that CJ will have forgotten this entire conversation by the time he reaches the end of the corridor. “Tomorrow,” he agrees, eager for the first time in nineteen days to be left alone in this dungeon.

__

The door squeaks again in protest as the lock slides into place, and Charles waits until the echo of CJ’s footsteps have long since passed before he begins to search the dungeon walls. There was a secret passageway, he was sure of it. And he had all the time in the world to find it.

__

__

__

__

The setting sun felt warm on Jake’s face as he slung his pouch over his shoulder, letting out a content sigh as the leather bounces against his back. It has been thirty five days since he had first met Amy, and together they have built up a resistance that he genuinely believed to have a fighting chance against Pembroke’s men. Women and men alike from Fumera, Truglia, Beatra and the neighbouring Peretta had joined forces, meeting in secret locations and building up a weaponry that matched, if not excelled, Jake’s memory of what they held in the castle.=

__

His face broke in two with a beaming smile as his thoughts turned to Amy. His life was so different to what it was a little over two months ago. Walking away from Brooklyne Castle, and the prestige that had come with his title, had been surprisingly the easiest decision he’d made in a long time. Under Holt’s reign, he had worn the royal crest with pride - championing with his fellow knights for all that was fair and good for the people. So when Pembroke returned one afternoon with an odd look on his face, crocodile tears drying on his weathered face as he declared _The King is Dead_ , Jake hadn’t feared the future. Naively, had even stayed hopeful after Sir Keith latched himself onto the crown, feeding his fellow men the right words to make them believe that he too wanted the best for Brooklyne.

__

And then the stories started circulating. Of ruined villages and abandoned markets because the owner’s were too fearful of exposure. Prosperous names falling to the dirt as their homes were ransacked. A sudden influx of fair maidens, each with an increasing look of alarm in their eyes, apparently volunteering to forego their homes - favouring the fortune of a life within the castle’s walls. All of these and more had begun to push on Jake’s moral compass, and before too long he had begun to investigate on his own. The truth was horrifying, and it had only taken one confrontation with his new king for Jake to find himself walking away from everything he had worked so hard to gain. 

__

But as he walked the now familiar path that connected his village to their secret place, he came to the realisation that he would do it all again, if that’s what it took to lead him to Amy. Lady Amelia Santiago, maiden of the village Fumera, and easily the most beautiful woman he’d ever come across. She was brave - a detail far more important than her beauty - and she was as wise as she was kind. Her demand for a better life for everyone was inspiring, and he was endlessly grateful that their paths had crossed. Together, they were going to take down The Vulture and his minions. He could feel it.

__

Reaching a clearing, Jake pulled a short line of rope from his bag, tying it carefully around a middle branch. Early on, the two of them had declared this tree to be a messenger system - signifying to the other, depending on where they tied their rope, whether it was safe to proceed. The middle branch indeed meant safety - that he would meet her in their usual place - but as he tightened the knot, Jake couldn’t help but think that it also meant - _Please hurry. I’ve waited all day to talk to you, and I don’t want to wait another minute more_. 

__

Their night-time stakeouts were easily the best part of his day. It had been a long-kept secret of the castle that all the guards practised their skills under the cover of the night’s sky, using scores of lit torches as their only defence against the darkness. An initiative introduced by a previous ruler, Holt had insisted on its continuation, knowing that a knight that is trained to battle with little to no vision was invaluable. Pembroke, clearly uninterested in changing anything that didn’t make his own presence greater, had let it be. Amy had admittedly been dubious when he’d suggested they focus their reconnaissance to night-time, but within days had agreed that it was an opportunity rich with information. And so he had built a platform up high on the edge of the forest, concealed just enough by the surrounding evergreen, and together they began planning out the revolt. 

__

More importantly, they had begun talking - about _everything_. She had a way of listening that made Jake feel like he was being heard for the first time in a long time, and as the nights wore on, he found himself telling her it all. His admiration for King Holt, and his quiet suspicions that his death wasn’t anywhere near as sudden or accidental as Pembroke had made it out to be. His broken family history, and how much he refused to do the same. Likewise, Amy opened up to Jake, and with every passing day he could feel himself falling harder and harder. A life of love and a family of his own had always seemed like a pipe dream to Jake - something that most knights had to sacrifice in order to serve their kingdom. But each night, as he watched her eyes catch the moonlight, sparkling as she told him of her dreams, Jake began to wonder if maybe such a fantasy could actually come true. 

__

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__

__

Amy shifts the strip of leather that cinched the tunic around her waist, adjusting it self-consciously as she felt her mother Camila’s eyes on her. She could sense a long conversation - perhaps, even a lecture - was looming, and was eager to get it over and done with. The sun was beginning to turn the sky a pale pink as it melted into the land, and with it came the night. And night was when she got to be with Jake.

__

__

__

“Another stakeout, Amelia?” And so it begins.

__

__

__

“Yes, Mama. Jake - I mean, Sir Jacob - imparted on us that most of their big moves are set up in the cover of the night. And he was right, we have learned so much in the last month.”

__

__

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Camila’s eyes narrow, a move Amy is certain she mirrors. “So it’s just you and Sir Jacob, up on the landing?”

__

__

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Fiddling with the braids she’d wrestled her hair into - one on each side - Amy responded softly. “Yes, Mama. But it’s nothing like that. We’re just keeping watch.”

__

__

__

“You and … Jake, as you call him. Keeping watch.”

__

__

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“I know where you’re going with this, and it’s not like that.”

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__

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“I’’m just saying, Amelia.”

__

__

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Amy sighs. “What is it that you’re ‘just saying’?”

__

__

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“Be careful who you give your midnights to, my darling. Midnights are for talking - for old friends and new; for truth and _never_ for lies. When you’ve only got the stars to illuminate, everything else falls away. Midnights are for confessions.” Her hand falls to Amy’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “They’re for falling in love.”

__

__

__

__Well that’s just ridiculous_. She and Jake were definitely _not falling in love. Okay yes, he made her heart smile just a little. He calls her Ames, a sweet shortening of her name that she had quickly grown very fond of. And there have been a couple of times when she’s been waiting for him to arrive and has noticed that her palms have gotten a little sweaty. But that’s not love, that’s ….

__

_Oh._

__

Okay, so maybe she had a little BIG crush. Maybe each night she fell a little deeper, talking to him about everything she’d never said to anybody else, punctuated by the hoots of owls as the stars grew brighter. But it didn’t matter how she felt. Even if what she felt could be categorised by that four letter word. 

__

She shakes her head, desperate to clear the notion of love from her mind as she turns to her mother, unable to hide the sadness in her eyes as she spoke. “I heard some of the other maidens in our village talking yesterday. He’s been promised to another.” She shrugs, trying (and failing) to seem aloof to it all. “Sophia, of Peretta.” 

__

Her stomach had fallen to her feet when she’d heard the women mention it yesterday, keeping her position concealed amongst the other patrons at the local tavern. She had been meeting with two of her brothers, discussing on how to gain possession of the materials they needed to build more weapons, when Jake’s name had cut through the noise, immediately stealing her attention. Still unaware of his defection from the title, the women had spoken of his persona only, and it had brought a small smile to Amy’s face as she listened, realising that she knew Jake far better than the other maidens. 

__

And then the name Sophia had been mentioned, and looking back, it should have been obvious to her then how much she actually cared for Jake. Friends wouldn’t have felt their heart squeeze out of their chest at the idea of someone being betrothed. Friends wouldn’t have felt the sudden urge to fight back tears as she’d heard them speak of this woman’s beauty. _Friends_ wouldn’t have begun lifting themselves out of the seat, desperate to tell these strangers that they were _wrong_ , even when she feared that they weren’t. He was, after all, Sir Jacob - Protector of the Villages. Chosen by the King to fight for the honour of all of Brooklyne. Of course a pairing had already been arranged. And so she sat, choosing to focus on the task at hand, swallowing the lump in her throat as she stared at the elaborate plans for crossbows and spears. 

__

Camila shook her head as she listened to her daughter explain her discovery, noting the desolate look on her face and wishing she could resolve it all. It was clear to her, now more than ever, that her daughter was falling in love with this Jake. 

__

She and Victor have raised a strong, independent daughter whom made them prouder than they could have imagined. Her determination to build an army and take on their selfish ruler was admirable, but her biggest fight may turn out to be within her own heart. 

__

__

__

__

The wooden planks creak underneath Jake’s torso as he hears the familiar sound of Amy ascending - hands gripping branches as she hoists herself higher until finally his eyes catch hers. There’s something different about her. It’s the first thing he notices - her brows furrowing deeper than normal, favouring her right arm over her dominant left. He moves quickly towards her, shuffling against the platform until he’s beside her, eyes raking over her body quickly. These are familiar signs to those who ran the Royal Guard. She had been injured, and the very thought of it was turning his stomach inside out.

__

It had only been seconds, but it feels like forever before he picks up on her lower arm, staying tucked close to her body as she shifts towards the centre of the platform. A sliver of red stuck out against the muted colour of her tunic, and he fights to suppress the urge for immediate retribution that rushes through him. Revenge wasn’t important right now. His eyes flick back up to her, silently asking for more information, and it is then that he picks up on the rage that she’s struggling to control. 

__

“Ames?”

__

She lets out a frustrated huff, wincing as the movement jostles her arm. “The Vulture’s men. I took a detour today, passing Beatra so that I could touch base with one of my informants. And they were already there, stealing livestock and taking all the fruits from the crops the farmers had spent months growing. That’s their _food_ , Jake. Without that, how are they going to survive?”

__

His jaw clenches, shaking his head. Brooklyne Castle owned enough harvest to last the year. Taking from the people was pure selfishness, and purely Pembroke. But there was always a solution. “We’ll gather from the other villages, give them whatever they need. Truglia has several talented hunters - one can stay in Beatra for a little while until they’re back on their feet.” He pauses, waiting for her to continue, and when the silence stretches, his tone softens. “What happened, Ames?”

__

Her faces grows defiant, a flashback to their very first encounter, and Jake suppresses a smile. “One of his men was in the forest, and caught me trying to figure out a way to interrupt their plans. He grabbed me - tried to drag me back to the castle and -” her breath hitches, words dying on her lips as Jake reaches out, hand gripping her arm tentatively as he pulls it closer to himself for inspection. He’s so focused on examining the wound that it takes him another beat to realise that this was the first time either of them had touched since their first meeting - and that her skin felt even softer than he remembered. 

__

The silence is deafening, and his eyes return to hers, wondering (hoping) if she can feel the same pull that he can. Brown eyes stare back at him, wide and unsure, and slowly his thumb rubs against her skin, tracing soothing patterns around her wound. “He hurt you?”

__

She nods, tongue darting out to lick her dry lips. He wants to kiss them, but he knows he can’t. “He’s got a few marks on him too, though. I had to fight back, Jake. There’s no way I … ”

__

“It wouldn’t be you if you didn’t, Ames.” he interjects with a soft smile, dropping her arm and reaching for his vest, sliding it off his shoulders as Amy watches on, confused.

__

“Wait, what are you …?”

__

His fingers grip the edge of the material, digging in as he pulls with his other hand until it rips. He drags the vest along its edge, tugging until a strip of fabric has run free, and looks up at Amy triumphantly before returning his attention to her cut - hands cupping her sweetly as he wraps the cotton around her wound. She hisses as it covers, and he mumbles a gentle admonishment of _hold still_ before tucking the last of the fabric into the fold.

__

Distant memories of his childhood run through Jake’s mind - of running back to his mother after playing with his friends had turned too rough, the war wound of a skinned knee leaving him certain that the world was collapsing around him. Recalled her gentle hands wrapping cloth around the mark, sealing it with a healing kiss that never failed to soothe the pain. He wants to leave the same kiss against Amy’s cut now, let it act as a salve, but he doesn’t trust himself to stop at her wrist. Now that he remembers the feeling of her skin against his, Jake wants to leave kisses on every inch that she will allow. There was no doubt about it - _he is in deep_.

__

He looks back up at Amy as he finishes, eyebrows raising as he takes in her contemplative gaze, blushing as she whispers a soft _Thank you_. Her hand traces over the bandage, fingers grazing the rough edges of the torn material, and she shakes her head. Clearly, there’s more on her mind.

__

“What is it, Ames?”

__

“What are we doing here, Jake? Seriously. Don’t you see? It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if we watch them through the night, if we learn their patterns and mimic their movements. None of it makes a difference, because whatever he wants, he gets. And despite all my anger, all of my desire for something greater, I’m still just another villager - another pawn on the board, just waiting to be taken.”

__

Jake takes in a deep breath, leaning against the tree trunk as he struggles to find the right words. The fire that rages in her heart is one of his favourite things about her, and he knows that without Amy the villagers wouldn’t stand a chance against the Vulture’s men. 

__

“We could go today,” he offers, shrugging his shoulders. “We could round the troops. Start the fight, probably even take down a fair chunk of the outside guards. But I have to ask - do you want to cut an arm off the monster, or do you want to kill it?”

__

Her eyes narrow, glancing down at her wound before looking back at Jake. “I want to kill it.”

__

He smiles. “Then I have an idea.”

__


	2. leave all your love and your longing behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sir Johnny and Lady Dora of the Ninety-Ninth Province?” she repeats, unable to hide the dubious look taking over her features.
> 
> Jake’s face turns an adorable shade of red, shoulders lifting in a gentle shrug as he reaches to take the invitation back. “We couldn’t exactly use my name, and it seemed weird to use yours. This is what I came up with, I guess."
> 
> A tiny giggle escapes, and Amy bites her lip at the sight of Gina’s eyes rolling skyward from behind Jake. “No, it’s good. I like it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say _thank you, SO much_ to all of you who have left comments/kudos. This fic was a stretch from the norm for me, and I'm so glad that you've come along for the ride!
> 
> I hope you enjoy this next instalment!

# 

we won't run (we can fight)

**part two - leave all your love and your longing behind**

**(you can’t carry it with you if you want to survive)**

“Okay, you’ve got my attention Jake” Amy responds, hand moving away from the cloth that covered her wound as she studies his expression carefully. 

He winks, a smooth flicker of his eyelid that makes her heart do a tiny jump up into her throat. _So handsome._

_Stop it, Amy._

His boots scuff against the platform as he tents his legs, leaning his forearm against his knees and sitting up a little straighter. “Okay, so admittedly I probably should have remembered this a little earlier, but I think it’s fairly safe to say that a lot has happened in the past month or so for me to turn a little absent-minded.”

Her head nods in agreement.

“Back when Holt was King, he’d begun planning for a masquerade ball. His anniversary with Lord Kevin was approaching, and he wanted to surprise him while he was away with the other scholars.”

Twisting her legs until they were tucked underneath her, Amy finds herself leaning forward in interest. 

“And then after his .. _illness_ ,” Jake pauses, using air quotes to show his suspicions, “Pembroke decided it would still go ahead - only now it was going to be this lavish display of his supposedly brilliant ruling. Which, let's face it, is all a facade, but you I both know that he just doesn’t care about that.”

Rolling her eyes as she nods again, Jake leans forward, beginning to describe his plan.

“That ball is supposed to happen at the end of the week. All the extra food and wares he’s been stealing … they’ve got to be for that. Every member of the elite will be there. And if there’s anything I learned from guarding with someone like Pembroke, it’s that he will never pass up on the chance to show off his wealth.”

“Okay, and …?”

“I have this friend, her name is Gina. She and I have known each other since childhood, right up until I left to join the Royal Guard. She lives in Truglia with her beloved, Rosa, which is why I went there to hide after escaping the castle. And I’m not exaggerating when I say that she’s the best in the province when it comes to forgery.” He pauses, making sure he has Amy’s full attention (if only he knew that was _always_ the case) before continuing. “There’s not a doubt in my mind that she could make us invitations to the masquerade ball. You and I … we could infiltrate the castle, right under their noses.”

A silence falls over the platform as the idea of getting dressed up and attending a _ball_ and the palace with somebody like _Jake_ washed over Amy. It sounded like something out of a fantasy - a dream that for so many reasons could never become real. She looks up at him, taking in the hopeful look that has crossed over his face, and finds herself replicating his smile. There was just one thing. “I … my family haven’t ever been to anything like that. I don’t have a dress. I don’t even know where I could find one.”

He regards her for a moment, head tipping slightly to the side. “Is that your only reservation to my plan?”

She nods, not trusting herself to speak.

He smiles in triumph at her response, slapping his hands across his thighs. “Then leave it with me. Lady Amelia Santiago of Fumera, you and I going to a ball.”

“Sounds wonderful, Sir Jacob Peralta of Truglia.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa … what are full naming me for?”

“I know, I'm sorry I just - hey, wait! You full named me first!”

He laughs, loud and clear, dodging her flailing fists with ease and having the decency to look contrite when she winces from jostling her wounded arm. At some point, between midnight conversations and daydreams of bright smiles, this man had become her best friend. And she found that it didn’t bother her in the least.

Charles toys with the edge of the dagger as he moves along the dungeon wall, fingers tracing every ripple of the stones that rose high above his head. It’s the same activity that he had been doing for countless days in a row now: wake, search, play Helpless Prisoner as the guards do their rounds, search, eat, sleep … wake up, and repeat. His ankle, red from the constant scraping of rusty metal, throbs in protest as he stretches, forcing his body weight forwards to reach the higher edge of the wall. The secret passageway that CJ mentioned (a time that he can longer count the days from, he’s noticed) has been playing on his mind, and he was growing more and more determined with every day to find its trigger. 

There was a steady drip of water in the corner that acted like an uninvited metronome, an unrelentingly monotonous beat that had become his new normal. Shutting it out for a moment, he pushes himself higher still, hands shaking as he thrusts the weapon forwards until it acts as an extension of himself. The sharp point scrapes the surface as his pulsing wrist reaches, the dull sound it creates a welcome distraction from the falling water. He falls as quickly as he rose, an exasperated huff escaping his chest as his heels slap down.

_It must be somewhere._

Overgrown fingernails scrape against his scalp when he runs his fingers through his hair, travelling down to tangle into the beard that time had spread onto his face. He missed the warmth of sunlight, missed the comfort of his bed. The memory of his lady love, Genevieve, was fading day by day. And as much as he hated to admit it, there was always the possibility that Jake wouldn’t be able to come back to rescue him. And so, he persisted. 

Resting his right hand against the cold stone, Charles shifts his weight to his left foot – and _maybe_ his mind isn’t as clear as it should be, from so many days in this dungeon, but he _swears_ he hears a click. Holding his position, he pushes both limbs harder, and a section of the wall pulls back, scraping against the floor as it slides behind the rest of the stone revealing a dark corridor. 

Balling his hands into fists, Charles rubs his eyes carefully before opening them again, staring dazedly at the sight before him. _He’d done it. He’d actually done it._

His feet begin moving before his brain can catch up and he trips, arms flailing as he struggles for purchase before slapping onto the floor with a thud. 

_Right. The chain._

The wall scrapes against the stone again as it slides back into position, and his eyes dart back to imprint the earlier positioning of his hands and feet before his frazzled mind tries to forget. He’s desperate to know more. And there was always the danger that what lay beyond the secret passage was far more dangerous than what he had here. 

But the fear of staying still is greater than the fear of the unknown, and he _must_ try. 

Elbows digging into the stone as he pushes himself up, Charles reaches for the dagger that had just slipped out of his fingers, twisting until his leg is bent at an angle he can reach. Lock picking had always been a specialty of his - a fact that had obviously been overlooked by the new so-called King - and with a determined grin he begins to dig.

It was time to find a way home.

The blades of grass between Amy’s fingers begin to split as she twists them around her digits, skin turning pale as she tightens the curl, then rushing towards pink with every release. After spending the morning training in Beatra, the cool ground was a welcome reprieve for her weary body. If there was anything the last few days had taught her, it was that plotting to overthrow an unjust King was an exhaustive experience. Her mind is too occupied with a myriad of thoughts for her to notice her visitors until they’re nearly in front of her, and she blinks in surprise at the sight of another woman with Jake. Behind them, the sky darkens as heavy storm clouds begin to roll in. 

She has red hair; and a discerning look on her face, casting careful eyes over Amy as she follows Jake into their secret meeting place. In her hands she carries a large package, wrapped up in hessian cloth, and Amy feels a twinge of excitement run through her at what she hopes lay beneath. 

It had been three days since Jake had told her about the masquerade ball, and with the night’s watch resulting in a plan firmly set in place they had spent every possible moment, day and night, working with their prospective villages: training their fighters, drawing up maps of the castle’s grounds, essentially doing whatever they could to prepare their people for any possibility. 

This of course meant that their nightly stakeouts had come to an end - and as Amy watches Jake walk towards her, she feels a pang in her heart at the realisation that she had missed him way more than she could have anticipated. 

He smiles at her as he draws closer, one hand raising in a gentle wave before reaching out to help her stand up from her comfortable spot amongst the grass. His hand grips hers for a beat longer, and she can feel her face heat up as he pulls away.

“Ames, this is my friend Gina.” He gestures behind him at the mystery woman, who raises one eyebrow in response. “She found a gown for you, as promised.”

“It’s fit for a princess. And you, I guess.” 

He throws a glare at the other woman before turning back around. “Ignore her. The bark is worse than the bite, I promise.”

Amy isn’t sure if that’s the case, but she trusts Jake, and so she nods, taking the package from Gina’s outstretched hands with a grateful smile. 

“You should see the invitations she’s put together for us,” he offers, placing a cream coloured envelope on top of the package. 

Her hands shake a little as she reaches for the heavy square, pulling at the wax seal until it lifts and sliding out the heavy paper from within. The edges are gilded, words in the finest of cursive inviting them to the event of the year. And then she reads the names, and does a double-take.

“Sir Johnny and Lady Dora of the Ninety-Ninth Province?” she repeats, unable to hide the dubious look taking over her features.

Jake’s face turns an adorable shade of red, shoulders lifting in a gentle shrug as he reaches to take the invitation back. “We couldn’t exactly use my name, and it seemed weird to use yours. This is what I came up with, I guess.”

A tiny giggle escapes, and Amy bites her lip at the sight of Gina’s eyes rolling skyward from behind Jake. “No, it’s good. I like it. Sir Johnny and Lady Dora are going to have a lovely evening, I think.” 

He looks over at her, hand still gripping the envelope tightly, and holds her gaze. “Me, too.” The hessian underneath her fingertips scratches as her hand flexes, the memory of his hand gripping hers a moment too long washing over her.

“Okay so let’s talk about this ball,” Gina interrupts, moving forward to stand between the two of them. “It’s a pretty big deal, obviously. But more importantly, Rosa and I will be attending with you.” She turns quickly, raising a hand at her friend’s clear intention to object. “There’s no way we were going to miss out on a BALL in the PALACE, Jake.” This time it’s his turn for an eye roll. 

“We can meet at the junction to the King’s Garden, make sure everyone looks respectable - ” she pauses, glancing at Amy, “and put our masks on. I would have brought them today but they’re still with the designer. He takes forever, but it’s always worth the wait. Much like myself.”

“Alright, Gina” Jake sighs. “Ames, we’ve got eight villagers from Truglia that have managed to become servers tomorrow night. You’ve got another five from Fumera, and ten from Beatra that are going to position themselves on the exterior, yeah?” She nods, and he smiles again. “Great. And weapons?”

“Our blacksmith has put together enough clubs, flails and staffs for everyone to be covered. And Peretta’s workmen have put together netting and armour for the villagers on the exterior.” She turns towards Gina. “Is there somewhere on this dress that I could hide a dagger or two?”

“Ah, trust me Ames. With you wearing a dress like that, nobody will be looking for weapons,” Jake answers quickly, face turning an immediate red as he realises what he just said out loud. Amy blinks rapidly, desperate to get her heart to stop racing and beside them Gina lets out a soft snort.

“Uhhh, anyway. These clouds are starting to look a little heavy. Let’s head back G, get ready for tomorrow and whatnot.”

“Real smooth segue there, Jacob.” He shoots her another glare, and she raises her eyebrows in a silent challenge. “Anyway, I’m bored and I miss Rosa. Let’s get outta here.”

Jake hovers, hesitating before telling Gina that he would meet her back at the village. She stares at him for a beat - an obvious silent conversation occurring between them – then shrugs, turning away without a word. He turns back towards Amy, a nervous smile on his face, and she cocks her head in curiosity. 

“Everything alright?”

He nods, running a hand through his hair. The clouds above them rumble and he glances up, brows gathering in frustration. “Yeah, I just …” Another rumble. “You know what, it doesn’t matter.”

“…. Are you sure?”

His eyes watch her carefully and he opens his mouth slightly before snapping it shut again, the trepidation on what he was about to say obvious. She smiles at him, hoping to encourage, and she watches his shoulders relax briefly before tightening as a droplet of rain lands on his vest, darkening the fabric as it sinks in. He rolls his eyes before closing them briefly, shaking his head in resignation.

“Yeah. I’m sure. You should go before you get wet … I’ll see you at King’s Garden tomorrow, yeah?”

She nods, smile widening as she grips onto the heavy dress safely wrapped in her arms. Taking a step back as more droplets of rain begin to fall, she throws him a quick parting wave before turning to run towards the trees, eager for shelter before the rain turned heavy.

The larger branches had only just begun to give her cover when she hears her name being called, and she turns in confusion. Jake’s standing before her, in the rain that is now falling steadily, hair turning darker by the second, and before she can scold him - tell him to _get out of the rain!_ \- he begins to speak.

“These past few weeks have been crazy. Tomorrow might bring a lot of change, and there’s something that I need to tell you before I lose my nerve.”

She shakes her head, confused. “What’s going on?”

He clears his throat, resting the edge of his thumb against the bridge of his nose, wiping away the raindrops as they land with increasing speed. “Spending all this time with you has made me believe in a better future. A better _life_. And I don’t just mean a life where The Vulture isn’t in charge. It’s more than that - you’ve shown me what I couldn’t see before. I’m sure this sounds completely insane, and maybe I shouldn’t be saying this, but … you’ve made me believe in love, Amy. And what’s more than that, you’ve made me believe that I could _be_ loved as well. 

And I know that we can’t be certain what will happen tomorrow, and I’m not asking for you to make any decisions right now. Or ever, if you don’t want to. But I just have to tell you this, before another word is spoken.” He takes a deep swallow, biting his lip and gazing at her with the widest of eyes. 

“I’m falling in love with you, day by day. And I don’t want to stop.” 

The rain falls harder now, fat droplets of water hitting his head and rolling down his expressive face, gaining speed as they reach his jawline. She thinks, without reason, how much she wants to kiss those raindrops, feel them sink into her lips as she holds him tight. Wants to grab his hand, pull him in from the rain and under the same tree she’s using as shelter. But for the moment she finds herself complete immobile. One thing stops her - a name that repeats itself, over and over in her mind. _Sophia of Peretta._

How could he love her, when he was betrothed to another?

“Jake, I …” the words die on her lips, and all she can do is shake her head. His eyes fall as she does, and too late she realises he thinks that she is rejecting him. “Wait - ”

“It’s okay Ames, you don’t need to say anything.” He takes a step back, one arm now raised in a fruitless attempt to shelter himself from the rain. “I really should be getting out of this rain, anyways. Tomorrow night, okay? Brooklyne needs us!” He’s already turned away by the last sentence, his words carried by the wind to her position as she remains rooted to the ground. 

_Jake was falling in love with her._ It was everything she had been wanting - and everything she would never get to have. Her heart sank to her feet, and as the strength of the rain overpowered the shelter of the trees on her walk home, it became difficult to tell which it was that ran down her cheeks. 

From the floor of his dungeon, Prisoner Number 9 let out a heavy sigh. There were 5,673 bricks that surrounded him, shutting him out from the world and all of its magic. One small window, one row from the roof and thrice covered in iron bars, manipulated the space where two bricks had once been. By the consistent change of light he knew that it was now sundown, and that it had been close to one hundred and twenty-seven days since he’d felt the warmth of said sun on his face.

His life before now had been so vastly different, and the long and lonely hours of the day had brought much introspection. How the confidence of a trusted advisor had turned horribly wrong. How his spouse had commenced a journey across the seas to meet with scholars from far and wide, and without their regular counsel, his internal compass had begun to lose control. Meals that had once sustained now turning him ill … shadows of feet at doorsteps and whispers behind turned backs, all culminating with a goblet of odd tasting wine and waking in a room made of stone, hands locked into shackles and no way out in sight.

Whether he would be kept here for all eternity, or be put out of his misery eventually, remained uncertain.

There were some things that were certain. He knew that if he stretched his arms and legs to their entire length, his toes and fingertips would be flat against the stone walls on either side. He knew that the square root of the sum of said stones equaled 75.31932. He knew that the cold he is feeling is the type of chill that burrowed into bones - never to be fully recovered, regardless of how many fires were to be lit in the hearth. 

And he also knew – and this part was what infinitely hurt the most – that he would never feel the arms of his loved ones around him again. 

He moves with a start as the wall that he’d been leaning against begins to rumble, an odd scraping sound coming from behind, and his delirious mind initially dismisses the noise as pure madness. But then he shifts, and actually sees the stones moving, if only for a little, and he stares unblinking as a figure begins to appear.

_Has he died? Is this someone bringing him to the afterlife?_

The intruder shuffles along the unforgiving stone, a messy tangle of hair and limbs that are undistinguishable until they lift their head, and the prisoner blinks dazedly at the sight before him.

This cannot be real. If he didn’t know better, he would have said that this man was Sir Charles. But that was impossible. The new King Pembroke, in the one visit he’d made during his ‘victory lap’, had made it very clear that the Royal Guard had shifted to his reign without reservation. _Rejoiced_ , was the word he recalls hearing. It made no sense for a member of said guard to be as disheveled as he. 

And then the man stares back at him, rubbing his eyes in disbelief before speaking. “Your majesty?”

He’s not losing his mind. This _is_ Sir Charles.

The man speaks again. _“King Holt?”_

From the dark corners of his broken heart a small glimmer of hope emerges, and the former king breaks into a smile. 

Amy’s hand grips tightly to the lantern in her left hand as she makes her way along the dirt path, lifting the skirt of her elaborate dress with the other to avoid the scruff below. Through the clearing of the tree tops she can see the turrets of Brooklyne Castle coming into view, the Pembroke banner flying high and mighty from its highest points. Lit torches along the edge cast shadows onto the stone walls, and as Amy draws closer she can see the points where earlier battles had begun to chip away at the structure, catapulted weapons doing little to weaken its protective barrier. 

It had been a long time since she’d been so close to the castle. Several years ago, villagers from precincts far and wide had been encouraged to attend the coronation of King Holt. They had arrived in droves, waiting in the courtyard, and she can still recall with clarity the sense of joy and contentment that had been palpable amongst the crowd. Quiet murmurings of hope for prosperous futures fell from the mouths of many, and when he had finally appeared on the balcony with the crown perched proudly on his head, the overwhelming roar of support rumbled into the ground. He had been the leader that Brooklyne had been waiting for, and under his rule a fairer way of life had been introduced. 

The announcement of his sudden death had been a shock to all. With most minds still reeling in disbelief at the declaration of a new king - a guard once known only as Sir Keith - there had been little presence at his crowning, despite his repeated demands. In retaliation, their new king had declared alternative laws that changed with each passing day, all with the similar theme of taking from the poor to give to the rich. And so, the rise of The Vulture had begun. 

And with it, the urge for the people of Brooklyne to stand up and fight for what was rightfully theirs.

Her heart begins to pound steadily as she reaches the edges of King’s Garden, and she resists the urge to turn around and run back to the familiarity of her home in Fumera. The scuff of feet ahead of her pulls her thoughts away from her insecurities, and Amy lifts her head to watch Jake walking towards her, eyes locking onto his as she gets closer. 

He looked so handsome – charming, dashing, debonair … all those adjectives, rolled up into one package. A velvet jacket hugs his frame, the dark blue fabric catching the light as he moves towards her, a smile curving onto his face as he nears. Gina follows behind, her head held high in a dark red ballgown, face concealed with a mask decorated with a brilliant plumage. Beside her, a tall woman with dark hair as wild as her eyes lifts her chin in a silent greeting.

His mouth opens before closing again, lips pursing as he takes a heavy swallow before trying to speak again. “Ames,” he mumbles, voice softer than she’s heard it before, reaching out a hand. “You look _beautiful._ ” Her fingers wrap around his, and he squeezes softly. 

Her dress was heavy, covered in a velvet the same colour as Jake’s, gold thread roped around white along the edges. It was different from everything that she had ever worn, and she hadn’t been confident that the Royal Guards wouldn’t pick out their imposter routine from the crowd. While her family could never be considered abundant in wealth, they had been fortunate enough to be in possession of a mirror within their home - until, that is, The Vulture’s men had ripped it from them (and many others), declaring there was a greater need for such an item within the castle walls than there ever could be in a humble cottage in Fumera. Without the opportunity to study her reflection, she had relied only on the smiles of her family as reassurance that she had looked respectable.

But standing in front of Jake, fingers gripping onto his and feeling the radiance of his smile, she felt truly beautiful. Lowering her lantern to the ground with her free hand, Amy raises it to her hair, tapping reassuringly on the beaded net that had been wrapped around the lower strands. She looks over at Jake, a soft blush creeping onto her cheeks as she holds his gaze before dropping her eyes to their still joined hands. He pulls away with a start, throwing her a sheepish smile when she looks back at him, and Amy tries not to show her disappointment. 

She had anticipated a sense of awkwardness to exist between them, the memory of Jake’s declaration of love yesterday weighing heavily on both of their minds. In another place or time, or a world where he hadn’t been promised to another, Amy would have leapt into his arms without a moment’s hesitation. But she couldn’t put her heart through the pain of falling for somebody like Jake, knowing that nothing could happen. 

The notion of love was still a bit of mystery to her, but instinctively she knew that one simply didn’t get over loving somebody like Jake Peralta.

Clearing her throat, Amy takes a tiny step back. “Thank you, Jake. You look beautiful, too. _Wait_ , no - I mean … uh. This is all very lovely, really. Gina, your mask is great. Very … fitting,” Amy stammered, feeling her face heat up as the blush filled her cheeks. 

“It is, Amy, and I thank you for noticing. This is my love, Rosa,” she continues, gesturing to the woman standing closely to her side before wrapping an arm around her waist. The gesture brings out an almost imperceptible smile to Rosa’s face, and Amy notices for the first time the abundance of black kohl that had been drawn around her eyes, an obvious alternative to a mask. 

Jake picks up an oversized stick from the nearby shrubbery, drawing a crude outline of the castle into the dirt they were standing near. Using it as a pointer, he gestures at various points in his diagram. “So we’ve got villagers here, there and here,” aiming at the outside of the castle, before turning the focus inside the walls. “The ball will be held inside the keep, which is here,” he marks an X. “Hopefully, we have are enough people acting as servants tonight to give us cover. The King, if I know him like I think I do, will want to be front and centre.” A circle is drawn near the X. “Weapons are hidden as planned, and the rest of it I think we’ll just have to take it as it comes. Sound okay?” The group nods collectively as he drags his booted feet over the drawing, erasing the image as quickly as he’d drawn it. 

“Well … I think we’re almost ready?” Amy asks, casting a careful eye to her surroundings, mindful of hidden figures with eavesdropping ears. 

“Just need to put your costumes on, I guess. Jacob, I swear if you’ve lost the masks I got them to make for you, I will tear you from waist to shoulder with my bare hands.” The threatening tone of Gina’s words was undeniable.

With a knowing smile, Jake reaches into his pocket, pulling out a black drawstring bag and working quickly to untie the knot in the string. Tipping the sack to its side he taps softly, and two masks fall out into his waiting hand. They were both covered in a simplistic pattern, blue squares turning black then blue again, woven with thin intersecting lines of painted gold not unlike the gridded bird cage her mother kept in their garden. The edge of hers curved into a filigree pattern, disappearing into her hairline as she places the disguise over her face, turning slightly so that Jake can tie the ribbon securely. She tries to contain the shiver that runs down the back of her neck at the thought of him doing so, and act so simplistic and yet so intimate.

_Sophia of Peretta_ , she reminds herself.

It is Jake’s turn to clear his throat this time, wiping his hands against the edge of his jacket before gesturing towards the castle. “Shall we?”

The manicured gardens that cased the outside of Brooklyne Castle had been well maintained, surprisingly even during Pembroke’s reign, and it proved to be a distracting view as the four of them proceed quietly towards the castlefront. Lush green hedges cut into curling patterns, framed by flame-lit stakes, spoke of sun drenched days of old - children playing hide and seek amongst the tall structures, the smell of freshly bloomed jasmine still lingering in the air. There would have been a time when the grass would have been a welcome respite for young and old, the gates always open for villagers to explore. Now, a heavy chain complete with padlock is wrapped around the wrought iron arches, and the frames sigh with loneliness as they walk past. 

Rosa slows down her steps, boots shuffling against the dirt until she’s in line with Amy. “Hey, listen. It’s Amy, right?”

She nods. From this closer angle, she can make out the studs that are lined along the edge of Rosa’s black dress, and she smiles.

“For what it’s worth, I think what you started is really admirable. Forming a makeshift army to take on the Royal Guard? Some might say it’s crazy, but I think it’s pretty amazing.”

Amy glances to her left, regarding Rosa with a curious eye. Unlike Gina, there didn’t seem to be a jab waiting in the wings. “Thank you. Honestly. But I couldn’t just stand by and watch as Pembroke destroyed everything we’d worked so hard to build. Brooklyne deserves better. _We_ deserve better. And I came to realise that I needed to speak up, even if it made my voice shake.”

Rosa nods, dark curls escaping the edge of her mask and falling over her eyes. One hand darts out from her voluminous sleeves, punching Amy gently in her shoulder with a smirk. “We’re going to kick ass tonight.”

“That’s the plan.”

Together they pass the gatehouse, shivering as the breeze that lingered over the moat begins to wash over them. A small crowd had begun to form near the drawbridge, the wide walkway narrowing as they got closer to the guard’s tower.

Jake, clearly feeling overwhelmed by the familiarity of their surroundings, began to surge forward, beckoning for the others to follow.

Amy looks further ahead, and her heart jumps into her throat. “Wait … Jake, look.”

He turns slightly, looking in the direction Amy was pointing before swivelling back to her. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to be looking at?”

She resists the urge to roll her eyes good-naturedly. “The guards. They’re getting all the male guests to take off their masks. Obviously, they’re looking for somebody.”

He sighs, resting both hands on his hips. “Me, probably. The Vulture might be greedy, but he’s not stupid. He knows that I won’t ignore the chance to rescue Charles.”

Rosa glances over at Jake, head shaking slightly as she raises one hand in question. “Even so, what are we going to do? How are we going to get you into the castle, if we can’t get you past the guards?”

Amy narrows her eyes in concentration, eyebrows furrowing as she struggles to get a better look at the face of a particular guard at the front of the line. The gentle breeze that flowed through the castle’s drawbridge played with the lit stakes that lined the walkway, causing the flames to shift without rhyme or reason. There was one guard that looked familiar, and if she wasn’t mistaken …

_Perfect._

She nods confidently, turning her eyes back to the other three. “I can get us in.”

“You got some kind of magic trick stored up in the sleeves of that dress, Amy?”

She hesitates. “No. The guard on the right. His name is Tedford. We courted, _very_ briefly, last year. My father had hoped we would end up matched, but our interests were too different. At least, I thought so.” She pauses, cringing. “I don’t meant for this to sound arrogant, but he became quite … _enamoured_ with me. As long as I can talk to him, I think we’ll be okay.” She resists a shudder as the memory of the few kisses they shared come screaming back to her. His heavy tongue had infiltrated her mouth and lay there like a dead slug. Memorable, for all the wrong reasons, and worked only to solidify what she’d already known - that the two of them were _not_ destined to be together. 

“Would you look at that … never thought I’d see the day when someone like Lady Amelia would use her feminine wiles to sneak somebody past a palace guard.” Gina snarked.

“And you probably also never thought you’d see the day when I would band together a bunch of rebels from various villages, and bring them to the castle to fight for the freedom of their province, but here we are, no?” She raises her eyebrow at the last question, and Rosa throws her a bemused smile. “Jake, whatever I say next, just go with it. Got it?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer before squaring up, resting one hand briefly against her chest as she fiddled with the heavy chain and the medallion dangling from it. Using the other to loop around Jake’s bicep, Amy quietly revels in the closeness she can get away with tonight. He glances in her direction, body stiffening briefly before relaxing into her touch, Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallows his thoughts. She can feel herself standing taller by his side, a relaxed sigh escaping her lips as they move along the drawbridge. 

It felt so right, standing next to him in all their splendour, but deep down she knew that the two of them together was just another costume made for the night.

“Wow, that Tedford guy really has a thing for you, huh?” Gina sidles up next to Amy, grabbing her by the arm and tugging her away from Jake’s. 

“He used to, yes … but I think he’s okay now.”

“Uh, no. I used present tense for a reason. He definitely still thinks about you. I don’t know who else would have fallen for the _‘this is my other brother whom you haven’t met, but has a face disfiguration and is very sensitive about it so please don’t make him take off the mask’_ routine.” Amy blushes at the memory, and Gina glances at her from the side. “Honestly, kudos. It was different, but it got us in here, didn’t it?”

Amy nods, glancing over at Jake, the willingly silent member of the farcical performance she had just put them through. His head turns and he catches her looking, both of them turning away quickly. Instinctively, she moves her hands to her ears to tuck her hair back, realising too late that her strands had already been pulled back for the evening.

Beside her, Gina lets out an audible sigh. “I know this is going to sound like a rhetorical question, but for once it honestly isn’t. What is wrong with you tonight? You’re weirder than I remember you being.”

Choosing to ignore Gina’s less than subtle jab ( _How does she know what my normal is, anyway? She’s only met me twice!_ ), Amy answers honestly. “Jake told me he liked me. Like, _liked_ me.” She didn’t want to say the word _love_. It was too similar to how she felt to say it out loud.

“Ah. Finally. I was wondering how long that was going to take him.”

“You knew?”

“Amy. Everyone knew. Boy was _not_ subtle. Even the trees knew. It was obvious as hell.”

“Not to me.” She shrugs, defeated. “It doesn’t matter, anyway.”

“Why?”

“Because of Sophia.”

“Sophia?”

Amy raises her eyebrows disbelievingly. “His betrothed?” Gina shakes her head, and she huffs in frustration. “The girl he’s been promised to _marry_?”

The redhead purses her lips, shaking her head again. “Amy … Jake isn’t betrothed to anyone. Sophia has been crazy vocal about having a crush on him, but he’s never shown any interest. I’ve never seen him interested in anything other than being a knight, actually.” She runs her eyes up and down Amy’s frame, making her shift uncomfortably. “Until you came along, that is.”

She swivels her head up, eyes locking immediately onto Jake’s as he watches them talk from the other side of the room. “ … wait. Jake has not been promised to another?”

“Girl. No. And let me get real with you for a second here. I’ve known this kid since he was crawling around the field. He’s one of the very few people in this world that I would literally do anything for. And I have never said this to another woman, but I’m saying this to you. Do not let him slip between your fingers. He deserves the best. As much as it pains me to say, as far as he’s concerned - the best is you. And if I’m not mistaken, you’re feeling the same way about him.”

There were a million thoughts swirling around in Amy’s head, least of all the fact that she had just received approval from the one and only Gina. This whole time, she had been living under the wrong impression. Jake was _not_ betrothed to Sophia. Jake, who just yesterday had stood in the rain and told her he loved her. Jake, who occupied her thoughts constantly. _Jake_ , the man that had come into her life purely by accident, and had changed everything for the better. He needed to know how she felt. She wanted to run to him immediately, pull him away from this ridiculous crowd and tell him just how wrong she had been. 

A surge of music rings out from somewhere further in and a deep voice booms across the stone, urging everyone to come forward into the castle so that the masquerade may begin. Jake, falling into the character of Johnny dutifully, moves closer and offers Dora his arm. She takes it with a smile, trying desperately to send him a message with her eyes that she needed to speak to him, but if he notices he doesn’t react. Silently, she sends a curse to the mask for blocking part of her face. 

A swish of green to her right draws her attention away, and with a start she realises that it’s Kylie, dressed in an elaborate costume that failed to hide the sadness in her eyes, climbing a small set of stairs at the back of the room. All of the reasons why she was here - why she had worked so hard to get to this moment - came rushing back to her, and as much as Amy wanted to use this chance to declare her true feelings to Jake, she knew that there was a bigger task at hand.

Tonight, The Vulture’s reign of terror would come to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARE WE READY TO FIGHT, Y'ALL?
> 
> Comments/kudos are always, always welcome. 
> 
> Title from Dog Days Are Over, by Florence + the Machine. 
> 
> ('I needed to speak, even if it made my voice shake' is a nod to Dolly Everett, and the legacy she left behind.)


	3. and I'm bleeding right before the lord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He raises one hand high, gesturing for the music to begin. Like scenes from a well-rehearsed play, each of the guests turn and reach for their partners, falling into line on the dance floor as the drawn-out notes of the vielle begin to ring out. Reaching out to Gina without hesitation, Rosa pulls her into the fray, the two of them quickly becoming indistinguishable (save for the plumage surrounding Gina’s mask) amongst the crowd.
> 
> An awkward silence stretches over the remaining two, the lingering memory of _“I’m falling in love with you, day by day … and I don’t want to stop”_ ringing in both of their ears. Jake can feel her gaze from the corner of her mask, and instinct kicks in.
> 
> “Okay look, there’s something that I need to ask you.” Jake begins, turning to Amy with a serious look falling over his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a monster of a chapter ... but there's a lot to get through! I hope you enjoy! xx

****

## we won’t run (we can fight)

****

**and i’m bleeding, and i’m bleeding, and i’m bleeding right before the lord**

_From her position above her prey, Rosa snarls - baring her teeth in a perfect white line before bearing down with her fist, rendering the man below unconscious with one swift punch. Smiling in triumph as his body falls limp, she raises herself up, reaching for her favourite weapon and swinging high. The sharp blade catches onto its target, slicing easily through the rope that anchored a tapestry to the palace wall and she watches as the drapery falls, covering several of the fighters in a heavy blanket of dust and fabric._

__

_The peaceful melody of string music quickly disappears, musicians running for cover as the sound of clashing metal begins filling the great hall. Dresses spin as women push through the crowd - the once calm evening of restraint now diverting into a swirl of chaos as war begins to rage. The people of Brooklyne were here to reclaim what was rightfully theirs, and they weren’t going to back down without a fight._

One hour earlier ... 

“Sir Charles.”

A long held habit kicks in and Charles drops his head towards the stone floor, bending at the waist before returning his sights back to the man in front of him. “King Holt.”

“I apologise for my over the top reaction. It’s safe to say that I am surprised to see you here. Stunned even. Absolutely flummoxed.”

Charles nods politely, fighting back a smile. The total lack of visual reaction (save for a brief smile) from his king was exactly how he remembered things being. He raises his dagger, pointing it towards the chain holding Holt down, and raises his eyebrows in silent offering. Seeing the curt nod in response, he quickly drops to his knees. 

“I need you to tell me everything. Start from the beginning, and leave no detail unturned.”

His head pulls back slightly at the unexpected request. Shrugging, he begins. “Well, I was born out in a field that my great-aunt Susan had been growing herbs in -” Holt raises his hand, breaking the conversation.

“No. Not since _your_ beginning. Pembroke. Tell me everything that has happened since my departure.”

He can feel his skin heating up as the embarrassment rushes through him, and Charles nods again, hands busy with working on unlocking the padlock that kept his ruler captive. Swiftly, he ran through the story as he knew it - the duplicity of Pembroke’s rule; the story about Holt’s death that he had so easily crafted; the reports of his greed coming in from various provinces …. Resting for a moment, he tells Holt of Jake’s disagreement with Pembroke, and how it had resulted in his best friend walking away from the only thing in his life he had worked hard for. After that, Charles explained, all he had known was the inside of his own cell. 

Holt is quiet for a moment as Charles goes back to work on the chain, his eyes taking on a faraway look. “I’m not surprised that Peralta did that,” he said quietly. “There were many times that his cavalier attitude towards situations left me in a great state of frustration. But there is a sense of honour to Jacob, a belief in a life where all is fair and equal, that led me to believe that despite his weaknesses he would turn into a truly admirable member of the Royal Guard. If Pembroke had made him follow a law that he didn’t believe in, I can absolutely see him walking away from it all.”

Charles nods eagerly, letting out a sigh of relief as the padlock on Holt’s chain releases, hitting the stone floor with a heavy thunk. “Jakey is the best, he really is.”

Rubbing the skin that had finally been freed from rusty metal, Holt turns to Charles with a serious nod. “Good work, Sir Charles. Now, tell me about this passageway you came through.”  
“Honestly, Sir, I’m not sure where it’s going to lead us. Just before I’d gotten to you, I had reached a juncture. And there was a small torch lit about halfway along the walkway that brought me to your cell. I began searching the stones, just like I had before, and then … there you were.”

He nods slowly, pursing his lips as his eyes roam over the cell that had been his home for far too long. “I believe, Sir Charles, that the benefits of exploring these mysterious caverns outweigh the costs of staying stagnant. I say we continue on. Do you concur?”

“I do, your majesty.”

“I am not your King anymore, Sir Charles.”

“With all due respect sir, I disagree.” Boyle’s heart quickens a little in fear as Holt stares back at him. “As far as I’m concerned, you never stopped being my King. And now that we can prove that Pembroke stole the throne, I am certain that the people of Brooklyne will agree.”

The older man nods, the faint whisper of a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “One can only hope.”

It had been several months since Jake had stepped foot within the castle’s walls, and as they move through the forecourt and into the keep his eyes scour the room, taking in all the changes King Pembroke had made. 

Holt’s palace had held banners of all five precincts on proud display in every hall. It had been a home for art of various creators within the villages, regardless of whether the piece had been widely lauded or quietly discussed. Representation had been important to him, and the people had loved him for it. Pembroke’s palace had mirrors at every corner, dotted by painted murals of great battles he claimed to be a part of. His crest, which looked remarkably similar to that of an earlier King’s, was emblazoned onto thick hand sewn banners, manipulating every room with its ostentatious colour scheme. 

He shifts uncomfortably, tugging on the lapel of his jacket to bring it slightly closer to his chest. It should be warmer, now that the brick walls sheltered them from the nighttime chill. But it was _bitterly_ cold. There was a distinct lack of joy in the air, similar smiles of ignorance and obligation stretching across each guest’s face as they made their way through. In the corner, a quartet of musicians strummed their lutes and citterns to an uplifting melody, forced merriment falling on deaf ears, fading forgotten into the night. 

As he shuffles along Jake shifts his gaze towards Amy, having recently been pulled away from him by Gina. They were huddled together, whispering about something, and as he stood watching Amy raised her head, eyes locking immediately on his with an unreadable expression crossing her face.

The memory of yesterday’s confession was still clear in his mind. Truth be told, when the day had started out there hadn’t been any intention for him to let his heart bleed out like he had. But standing in the field with her, discussing their plans for the night, his mind had begun to consider all the things that could go _wrong_ , and how there was the very real possibility that it could end without him ever being able to tell Amy how he really felt. And the pain of that was greater than anything else he could imagine, and so he’d put it all on the line.

To see the shake of her head at his words had hurt more than he was willing to describe, but oddly he found that he still didn’t regret saying them. She was, after all, the greatest thing to come into his life in the longest time, and if the only way to ensure that he could still be around her was to be her friend, then so be it. 

The fact that his heart had become fully invested in her was something that he would just have to learn to live with. 

An obnoxious voice roars over the quartet from a room to their left, demanding their presence within The Great Hall - a room within the keep that he’d only seen once before. Jake clenches his jaw as he runs through a mental checklist of the night’s plan, reaching instinctively for Amy as the role of Johnny and Dora come into play. 

He glances at her briefly as she grips onto his offered arm, turning away before he finds himself getting lost in her gaze again ( _while he may not be able to help how he felt, he certainly wasn’t going to make Amy feel bad about it_ ). His mouth feels dry, and he takes a heavy swallow to try and encourage the chance to speak once more. 

If there was anything that was certain about tonight, it was that The Great Hall was definitely living up to it’s name. A rich red tapestry covered the floor, gold damask smothering the fibres. Tall brass urns burned a healthy fire from their holders high above the guest’s heads, and the ceiling held home to numerous chandeliers, all lit with robust candles. 

A larger orchestra stands in the corner, their thin and ill-rehearsed repertoire fighting with the acoustics of the hall. Their faces turn nervously towards the King’s throne with every pluck of the strings, obviously fearful of the ramifications of displeasing their master.

To the right of them sat a banquet, covered in an array of food far more extravagant than necessary. Brass goblets, encrusted with gemstones and other delusions of grandeur were scattered around the surface, accompanied by bottles of wine both white and red. In the middle of it all sat a mural of the King himself, depicted through the contrasting colours of seasonal fruits. From the safety of his mask, Jake rolls his eyes at the display. It was ridiculous, the lengths that Pembroke’s narcissism went to.

At the front of the room, four steps higher than the crowd, stood an ornate throne emblazoned with The Vulture’s name. A cushion, covered in red velvet and embroidered with his initials, sat waiting for the royal caboose. A step below, and on either side of the throne, sat a long line of bench seats that began filling with his stolen women, each face looking sadder than the last as they enter and take their place. Hidden in the shadows underneath the bench ran a long and heavy looking chain - shackles open and waiting for their victims.

Jake feels Amy stiffen beside him as a woman in a green dress covered in peacock feathers makes her way to the edge of the seats, and he turns his head just enough to whisper - “Kylie?” She nods, chewing on her bottom lip, and he finds himself resting his spare hand against hers. Seeing her safe and sound was probably no consolation to knowing that her friend was still under Pembroke’s control, and it is all Jake can do to not throw caution to the wind, pull out a dagger and declare war right there and then. His mind represses the mental image of Charles, hidden somewhere under lock and key, and runs through the plan once again.

A quiet rumble runs through the room as more guests appear, various aristocrats reaching out gloved hands in well-practiced greetings that held no real warmth. Threads of silver and gold, red, violet and all the shades in-between fill the floor as everyone’s costumes fight for dominance amongst the sea of egos. He turns back to Amy, noting the wonder in her gaze as she takes in the palace’s opulence for the first time. Not for the first time, he grows wistful that they’d hadn’t met before the recent few month’s activities. He was certain that King Holt would have been very fond of her.

A blush grows across her cheeks as she catches him staring, and she glances around her before leaning in closely. “I knew that the inside of the palace would be amazing, I mean … it’s a palace. I guess I was just expecting …”

“Less arrogance, more elegance?”

She nods, mouth twisting into a wry grin. The gold filigree that surrounded her mask glinted against the candlelight, but still held no competition against the sparkle in her eye. “This place has changed a _lot_ since Holt,” he explained, shrugging one shoulder up in defeat.

“You know, I never thought I would say this, but there is such a thing as _too much_.” Gina whispered as her and Rosa sidled up next to them. 

Amy nodded in agreement, throwing a well-rehearsed smile at another couple as the four of them walked through the crowd. Her dress flowed out gracefully behind her as they progressed, and she moved with an elegance that some who had been born to privilege would never be able to match. Even under the circumstances, Jake was endlessly proud to have her on his arm. 

The loud screech of a score of horns at the front of the Great Hall pulls Jake from his thoughts, and quickly the crowd swivel toward the sound, knowing that such uproar undoubtedly signalled the impending arrival of The King.

Pembroke’s smirk reeks of arrogance as he shuffles along the velvet carpet that led to his throne, head remaining high as he ignores those that kneel before him. He winks at a few of the women that were now chained to their positions, passive to their smiles turning into sneers as he passes. The room remains quiet as he ascends, and he turns to face the crowd from the top, scouring the room disinterestedly before dropping into his ‘rightful’ place. 

He raises one hand high, gesturing for the music to begin. Like scenes from a well-rehearsed play, each of the guests turn and reach for their partners, falling into line on the dance floor as the drawn-out notes of the vielle begin to ring out. Reaching out to Gina without hesitation, Rosa pulls her into the fray, the two of them quickly becoming indistinguishable (save for the plumage surrounding Gina’s mask) amongst the crowd.

An awkward silence stretches over the remaining two, the lingering memory of _“I’m falling in love with you, day by day … and I don’t want to stop”_ ringing in both of their ears. Jake can feel her gaze from the corner of her mask, and instinct kicks in.

“Okay look, there’s something that I need to ask you.” Jake begins, turning to Amy with a serious look falling over his face.

She gazes back at him, mouth falling open slightly as she visibly struggles to find the right words. Before she can try, he raises his hand, pointing towards a tall woman dressed in white, standing out from the crowd by her oversized headpiece. “I gotta know,” he continued – “Is that supposed to be a swan? Because honestly, all I see is a stork.”

Amy’s shoulders drop as the tension leaves her body, drawing her hand to her mouth to conceal the giggles that threaten to escape. It really did look like a stork, munching on the feathered ‘grass’ that surrounded the woman’s voluminous creation. _Money truly didn’t buy taste._

He can feel himself relax in turn as her laughter escapes, despite her best efforts at suppression. These kind of moments, where they turned silence into laughter, were his favourite. And only served to remind him of what they were fighting for – a greater future for Brooklyne, yes; but also, a future where they can stay together, even as friends. 

There’s a brief pause, and then the melody of the music changes, a slower tempo falling over the room. Clearing his throat nervously, Jake offers a hand to Amy. “Shall we?”

Her hands shake a little, he notices, and he gives her fingers a gentle squeeze as they join his. He pulls her closer as they move towards the centre of the dance floor, giving her an encouraging smile as his free hand rests gently against her waist. Tentatively, they begin moving to the beat, both doing their best to ignore the awkward space that was building between them.

Jake glances towards the front of the room and notices The Vulture sitting on his throne, one knee bent up with his foot against an armrest. In his right hand he holds a chalice, and he stares at the vessel, already distracted by his reflection as the crowd move below him. Turning back to Amy with a tiny shake of his head in the ruler’s direction, she looks over and huffs at his lack of interest. “All of this work, and everything that had been stolen for this night, and he doesn’t even care enough to pretend that he’s enjoying it.”

He nods in agreement, squeezing her hand quickly again as they turn across the floor. “There’s nothing in this hall that could ever surpass his interest in his own reflection. _That_ is Pembroke, right down to his soul.”

She laughs softly at that, blushing slightly when he smiles back at her, and for a moment they dance together in silence.

Finally, she speaks. “Jake, there’s something that I have to tell you.”

He winces as the pointed tip of her shoe hits the edge of his toes for the fourth time. “Is it that you’re a terrible dancer? I mean, no offence Ames, but this is not your strongest skill.”

Her face turns a bright red and she shakes her head, gold chain shifting slightly against her chest as she lets out a huff. “We didn’t do a lot of dancing in Fumera, and it’s all really confusing.”

Slowing down the pace, Jake throws her an apologetic smile and tightens his grip on her waist, locking his frame so their outstretched hands act as a support. “Here. Follow my lead.” He takes slower, more deliberate steps, increasing the pace in small increments as confidence begins to creep onto her face. Together, they move carefully around the floor, smiling at the other guests as they let the music was over them. He could definitely get used to this. 

_Just as friends, Peralta._

The dark chambers absorb the echo of the two men’s footsteps as they reach yet another dead end, Holt letting out a heavy sigh as they turn back towards the main corridor of the passageway. He had never been made privy of the existence of these secret aisles during his reign, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that they had been yet another tool of deception utilised by Pembroke. Foolishly, he had spent his time in power working on helping the people of Brooklyne - when obviously, he should have been fortifying a protective barrier of his own.

From behind him, Charles skips slightly until his steps match Holt’s, walking beside him for several beats before breaking the silence. “There’s just one thing that I don’t understand, Sir. And I’m sorry to be even thinking it, but ..”

Holt stares Boyle down, maintaining his steady timbre as he voices the question looming above both their heads. The smaller man had been peppering the silence with small talk for longer than he cared to acknowledge, and he was glad that he’d finally worked up the courage to ask what was actually on his mind. “Why didn’t Pembroke just get rid of me?”

His sheepish shrug is the only answer on offer.

“I thought about that as well, over the countless days in which I was under lock and key. What I have come to the conclusion of - and I am confident that you will agree - is that to Pembroke, I am his greatest victory. His biggest conquest. He _couldn’t_ kill me. Firstly, because as far as Brooklyne was concerned, I was already dead. But secondly, if my cell remained empty, then so did his trophy shelf.”

“Huh. That actually makes a lot of sense.”

“I had a lot of time to mull things over, as I’m sure did you.”

“Well, yeah. But I meant more that I was impressed that Pembroke even had the foresight to do something like that. He’s usually more of a ‘react now, think later’ kind of man.”

“To his detriment, I’m sure.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Another silence falls over them as they reach the end of the corridor and Holt pauses, studying the line of stone to his right before surveying the rest of their surroundings. With a careful hand, he reaches towards a lantern set into the wall, grabbing the base and tightening his bicep, letting out a soft grunt as the light remains stagnant. _Curses._

Shaking his head, he tries again - breath catching as this time the lamp moves, base dropping into the wall as the stone to their right begins to move. 

The two men look at each other in glee and disbelief as light begins to fill the walkway, cold air washing over them as their eyes struggle to adjust to the change. A familiar figure stands before them, and Holt’s heart begins to sink.

“And just _what_ do the two of you think you’re doing?”

Amy can feel her heart pounding as Jake leads her around the dance floor, desperately trying to keep her mind on the seemingly simple steps, than acknowledging any of the other thousand thoughts that were running through her mind. She looks around, eyes scouring over the elaborate costumes, feeling more than a little out of place. His fingers tighten ever so slightly around hers, and her heart moves up towards her throat.

It had been so incredibly foolish of her to overhear gossip from loose-lipped villagers and take it as gospel. This whole thing could have gone so very differently, if she had just summoned up the courage on one of their countless nights alone under the stars to ask him about his supposed betrothal. 

They could have been together, or at the very least closer, by now. And she knows - she knows - that right now is not the time to finally declare her unending love for him. A battle loomed, and every time she glanced around the hall her eyes caught onto another member of their secret army, disguised and primed for attack. Any kind of diversion was the last thing either of them needed.

And so she chews the bottom of her lip softly, silently praying for a moment of peace with some parchment and a quill, so that she may properly put down the words she so desperately wants to say. 

Jake’s hand feels warm, resting gently on her waist as he subtly moves her amongst the churning sea of strangers that made up the dance floor. Glancing up at him, her eyes rest on the checkered pattern of his mask, noting how the blue squares complemented his brown eyes, and Amy’s left foot drags a little at the distraction, causing her to stumble. His grip tightens in support as she looks up at him apologetically, feeling the temperature rise with the rush of blood to her face. 

The hand that led her around the floor squeezes hers gently again, and he gives an understanding smile, following with a tiny wink going unnoticed by anyone other than her. “You’re doing so well, Ames. Don’t worry about the tiny slip ups … and besides, nobody even noticed.”

So supportive. _Just another reason to love you._ She wants to tell him. Can feel the words describing the way he makes her heart pound with the smallest of gestures tripping on her tongue, begging to be let out. 

There’s no way that she is going to last the night like this. “Jake, I think we should ..”

He shakes his head quickly, thumb stroking against her waist as he leans in closer. “Before you say anything, I need to apologise.” He takes a deep breath, eyes focusing elsewhere for a moment before returning to her. “I’m really sorry, Amy. About yesterday. I shouldn’t have put you in such an awkward position. I guess I just … I didn’t want to hold anything back. But I’ve made things uncomfortable, and I didn’t mean for that to happen.” He shakes his head again, the remorse obvious as they continue moving amongst the swirling fabric. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, you don’t have to …” There is so much that she wants to say, a thousand different words bubbling up into her throat. For all that she has been so willing to shout when it related to this revolution they had begun, when it comes to matters of the heart, Amy is finding it far harder to navigate the right way to say _anything at all._

Jake clears his throat, desperate to fill the silence as he continues. “I don’t want to say that I didn’t mean it .. because I did. And I still do. But there’s no way that I can imagine a life without you around, and if that means we do so as friends, then … awesome.” If he had said that to somebody who didn’t know him better, it would have almost sounded convincing. But Amy knew the tone of his voice now - knew when he was trying to convince himself of something that he didn’t truly believe in. And this moment was no exception … but it did raise of glimmer of hope within her that _maybe_ she wasn’t too late. 

The music slows before coming to a stop, and reluctantly the two of them part, clapping politely as the orchestra adjust their positions to begin the next piece.

A tall man with an unremarkable face moves furtively towards them, brass tray held high on the palm of one hand. He regards them for a moment, dark eyes surrounded by a silver mask, and quickly Amy recognises him as a villager from Beatra. With a small nod, the server reaches for one of two goblets waiting on the tray, handing it over to Amy and waiting to make sure she notices the skeleton key that had been wrapped around the stem before turning towards Jake to do the same. 

Their eyes meet, and Amy nods. It was time.

“Well, would you look at that, Sir Charles. Never did I ever dream that I would see a pile of rags talking out loud.”

The figure before them was, of course, Lady Madeline Wuntch - a fellow former citizen of Braugha, who had grown over time into a permanent thorn in his side. 

“Ever heard of bathing, Raymond? I smelt you before I even saw you.” Her tone dripped with disdain, eyes dragging down his disheveled appearance as he lifts his mouth into a snarl.

Holt’s beloved, Kevin, had once pointed out to him that their rivalry was born from the fact that they were just so damn similar to each other, and that as a result the _‘anything you can do, I can do better’_ battle raged stronger as the years turned. 

Naturally, it was a ridiculous statement with absolutely _no_ supportive subtext, and he had dismissed it immediately.

“I have spent the last hundred-plus days in a dungeon, Madeline, and yet somehow I still appear cleaner than you. I am certain that the smell you are noticing is attached to your own drab attire.”

Lady Wuntch, as some preferred to call her, was a waste of space - the lowest form of life that had found a way to take down most of his bold plans before they had ever come to fruition. All, that is, until he had been named King of Brooklyne. His rise to power had been fair, elected by the people and celebrated in his role, and he knew it enraged her that despite all of her underhanded dealings, she still hadn’t been able to claw her way to the top. Until now, it seemed. 

Their constant need to outdo each other had firmly pitted themselves as adversaries, and it made perfect sense that she would have used his downfall as an opportunity to rise. 

She rolls her tiny rat-like eyes. “You know, after all these years, I would have thought you could have come up with some better comebacks than that. You bore me, Raymond. As does this pathetic attempt to escape. I had a feeling you would try this. Why haven’t you realised it yet? _You’ve lost this round_.”

He takes a step forward, stone feeling warmer under his feet as he leaves the hidden passageway and into the castle - something just earlier today he had been certain he would never do again. “When will you learn, Madeline, that this war will _never_ be over. I am the true King of Brooklyne, and I will fight for the rights of my people until my dying breath. _That_ is what a true leader does. The fact that it doesn’t even occur to you to do the same, tells me everything I need to know.”

Boyle shuffles in from behind him, reaching out an amiable hand as he smoothes his hair down with the other. “I’m Charles Boyle, by the way. I don’t believe we’ve met before today.”

“Sir Charles. Do not waste your time with this … creature. Unless you would like to bear witness to feasibly the weakest version of the human form - in which case, gawk away.” Wuntch glares at him. “I must warn you to be careful not to stare for too long, Charles. Your retinas may begin to burn.” 

She raises a single eyebrow. “Laughable to call me weak, Raymond, when I’m not the one that had a throne stolen out from underneath me. Not to mention hiding away in a cell somewhere so that you could lick your wounds.”

“I was _held_ captive, Madeline.” Out of the corner of his eye, Holt notices Charles creeping ever so closer to Wuntch. The plan was not clear to him yet, but he knew that his best tactic at this point would be to keep her attention. “But you are correct, Pembroke did steal the throne from me. By my own foolish ignorance. Why you have kept an allegiance with him, I will never know. I cannot say that I thought you were smarter than that, however I must admit I did not believe you were that idiotic.”

“Idiotic? Would you call it idiotic to -” her words are halted, voice stopping in its tracks as Charles raises himself quickly, gripping the base of his dagger and striking the brass handle against the side of Wuntch’s head. Her eyes flash with shock before closing, body falling limp and crashing to the floor with a thump. Holt’s head swivels towards his companion, eyes wide as his mind processes what just happened. 

Charles shrugs at his expression. “She seemed so intent on throwing vitriol your way, I figured that she probably wouldn’t notice what I was doing until it was too late. I don’t know if you’re aware, Sir, but Lady Madeline _really_ doesn’t like you.”

“I can assure you, Sir Charles, that the feeling is mutual.” Briefly, the two men pause, waiting for a visible sign of life - and at the sight of the slight rising of her chest they look to each other and nod, stepping over her sleeping body and falling back into the shadows of the castle’s walls. It was time to find a way for King Holt to return to his throne.

Tonight’s scheme has run through Jake’s mind so many times, there was a part of him that wasn’t entirely certain that he hadn’t already lived it. Using his prior residence within the castle’s walls as his crutch, he begins to plan his escape from the great hall. If his instincts were correct, Charles was likely to be bound within the dungeons of the castle, and the key that had been wrapped around the goblet in his hand will, he hopes, open the door to his friend’s freedom. 

His heart was beginning to race as the reality of it all began to wash over him. He was going to have to be quick, and stealthy. If everything went well, by the end of the night Pembroke’s rule would be over, and Charles would be free. Not to forget Amy’s friend Kylie, and the scores of others who for no reason had had their freedom ripped away from them. Perhaps, one day, he could even return to his old life of protecting the kingdom. 

Thankful for his months of steady training in a time that seems so long ago now, Jake clenched his jaw as he surveyed the crowd once last time before glancing over at Amy, turning away as a sad smile threatens to take over his face. There were times that she was so beautiful, it hurt.

“Jake … wait.” 

He turns back to her, cocking his head to one side as a single eyebrow drops. “Ames?”

“I just …” she hesitates, exhaling a heavy breath before glancing around the room. “There isn’t … but I just need to …” one hand reaches up, stroking the side of his cheek softly, and his skin tingles at the touch. She bites her lower lip, pausing as she considers her next words. “Be safe, okay?”

All the words he had been about to reply with die in his throat, and the only thing Jake can do is nod as she removes her hand, the feeling of her so close to him lingering as her hand falls. 

There was a time when Jake genuinely believed that he was destined for the life of a Royal Guard. Forsaking all other paths, he had wanted it all - the title, the accolades, and (as an added bonus) the finery that came from a life of defending his kingdom. A noble death, perhaps by the hand of a foe, closing his eyes at peace knowing that he had given himself for the people of his beloved province.

But none of those things appealed to him anymore - and while it was possible that Pembroke’s theft of the throne had something to do with that, instinctively he knew better. He wanted a life outside the castle’s walls - a family. He wanted easy laughter and long nights of talking. Brown hair stealing his pillow as it fans out in front of him, laying together on lazy mornings, warm eyes watching him as he plays with their children. Nights like tonight, with Amy in his arms, dizzy with laughter as he spins her around the floor. 

Nothing else could ever come close to this. He would throw away it all, just for the chance to have this forever. He doesn’t need the prestige that came with the title of Sir Jacob. He just needs Amy. Pure and simple.

It was true, then, what Gina had told him not so long ago. Love changes everything.

If only - _oh, if only_ \- Amy could love him back. 

He nods, giving her a soft smile before turning towards the doorway he recalls led into the castle. Amy’s words echo in his head. He needed to be safe, if only for the chance to return to her.

_“AND JUST WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING, DINGUS?”_

The crowd around them freezes, each guest looking at the other in the hope that the ‘dingus’ wasn’t them. Jake, of course, knows better, and he squares his shoulders before turning towards Pembroke.

“Keith.”

“It’s King Pembroke, and you know it.”

“You are _not_ my King. And if these people knew how you’d accumulated the wealth that you’ve so proudly displayed this evening, I don’t think you would be _their_ King, either.”

Pembroke sneers, throwing his head back with a dismissive laugh. “Still insisting on making up stories, then?”

“They’re not stories.” Amy interrupted, taking a step closer to Jake as she speaks. “Your entire rule has centred around stealing from the very people you are supposed to be protecting.”

“This is MY KINGDOM.” Pembroke responds, voice raising an octave as he steps onto his throne to look further down onto the crowd. “Everything that you people do, and everything that you make, belongs to ME.”

Jake’s jaw clenches, the rough edges of the skeleton key in his hand digging in as his fingers clench into a fist. “You stole the crown, just as you steal everything that surrounds you. The people of Brooklyne have earned far better, and I’m not going to stand for it any longer.”

Pembroke laughs mercilessly, throwing a dismissive glance towards Amy. “And just what do you and your pretty little lady friend think you’re going to do? Ask me nicely until I say yes?”

“No.” A new voice enters the fray as Rosa steps forward, lifting the edge of her skirt slightly as she unties an axe from its hiding place, wrapped against her upper leg. “We’ve come to fight, and we’re not leaving until your ridiculous reign of arrogance is finally over.”

Jake raises his eyebrows as she wields the axe higher, watching as the crowd surrounding her take a collective step backwards, a hushed note of terror beginning to wash over the crowd. _Damn, Rosa._

“My royal guards might have something to say about that.”

“The royal guards who have been gorging themselves on boar and wine all night? I think we’ll be just fine.”

Pembroke glances in the direction of his protectors, eyes narrowing as he watches them scramble into position. “Consider this your warning, commoners. Take on the King, and pay the consequences.”

“Consider this yours, Vulture. Destroy your people’s livelihoods, and watch them fight for justice.”

“I’ve had enough of these games. _Guards._ Take them down.”

From her position beside Jake, Amy reaches into the deep sleeves of her dress, pulling out the dagger that she’d managed to secure close to her elbow earlier in the evening. Clasping it between her teeth, she bends her knees slightly, pulling the skirt of her dress towards her front. Gathering the material higher until her calves are exposed, she ties the remaining material into a makeshift bow, reducing the restrictive nature of the dress. The blade begins to feel cool against her teeth and she moves quickly to remove it, noticing her face heat up as she realises Jake has been watching her with an impressed look on his face.

“I told you. It’s not impossible to fight in a dress. Just … harder.” 

He nods at her statement, clearly remembering their first meeting, and she feels a rush of pride run through her - only to be knocked out of her a moment later as the heavy hand of a Royal Guard shoves into her back, the heel of his palm striking her exposed skin with excessive force. She feels the weight of the blow rush through her, stumbling forwards into the rambunctious crowd, hands scrambling for purchase as her feet scuffle against the floor. 

She hears Jake shout out her name from behind her, and turning she watches as another guard tackles him to the ground, grabbing Jake as best as he can by the waist and forcing him onto the floor. He’s quick to react, curling one leg up and pushing against his attacker’s hip flexors, pushing away as the man yelps in pain. 

Glancing quickly towards the front of the room, a triumphant smile crosses her face as she realises her best and oldest friend Kylie had noticed Amy’s presence, standing as far away from her seat as the shackles would let her as she leans towards the crowd. Her thumb and forefinger had been gripping on tightly to the newly retrieved key since it had been given to her, and as Rosa reaches her axe higher, slicing a tapestry off the wall and into the crowd, Amy moves, darting through the action and towards her friend.

Kylie laughs with the kind of elation that takes over when freedom is finally within reach, grabbing Amy’s outstretched hand and taking the offered key. “This should work on all the cuffs, pass it around.” Amy whispers quickly, glancing around for impending danger. “Strapped underneath the bench are an assortment of weapons … if any of you feel up for a fight, come join us.” 

Her friend nods quickly, blonde hair bouncing softly against her green dress as she ducks down, lifting one edge of her skirt as her shaking hands insert the key, letting out a quiet shriek of joy as the padlock releases with a metallic click. Shifting her weight, she releases the woman next to her, encouraging the key to be passed down the line as she reaches underneath the bench, gripping onto a sling with a triumphant grin. 

“I knew you wouldn’t take this lying down, Amy.” She smiles, gesturing for her fellow captives to search for their own weapons as she stands, pulling her friend in for a quick hug before jumping down off the raised ledge. “Now, it’s time to kick some butt.”

Jake feels his head swing back as the clenched fist of a Royal Guard crunches against his cheek, knuckles grazing roughly against his lower lip as his body twists. The faintly metallic taste of blood begins to edge along his tongue as he rears his own hand back, biceps curling before releasing into a perfectly timed punch in retaliation. As his foe stumbles backwards, Jake reaches for the blade he had concealed within the lining of his jacket, holding it steady and cutting the air as his legs push him forward. _Charles. He needs to get to Charles._

To his left he watches as another villager sheds their disguise, jumping into the melee as more Royal Guards rush into the hall, confusion obvious in their faces, eyes darting around the room trying to make sense of what happened to their night of merriment and _who is the enemy right now?_

He takes advantage of their bewilderment, racing past two or three before he hears his name being called out, turning to face one of the guards he had once stood beside with pride. “I should have known it would be you,” Sir Steve snarled, drawing a sword from the holder strapped around his waist and pointing it menacingly. “Never could leave well enough alone.”

“It doesn’t have to be like this, Stevie. He doesn’t care for us. He doesn’t care for the kingdom. You could walk away right now, and there is nothing that he could do about it.” Jake keeps his tone even, using a familiar version of Steve’s name in the hope of familiarity, one hand raised as the other tightens its grip around the dagger. 

“What does the _kingdom_ have anything to do with this, Peralta?” He raises one eyebrow in disdain, edging forward until the blade of his sword is dangerously close to Jake. His voice lowers. “We’ve got you outnumbered. Don’t make me do this.”

The only response Jake can give is a shake of his head, pushing his own dagger forward, but before either blade can reach skin, Gina appears from behind Sir Steve, hoisting up an obviously heavy pot and dropping it directly onto their enemies head. Her fists rise in triumph as the other man stumbles, eyelids fluttering as he regards Jake with a puzzled expression before dropping to the floor. She grins at her oldest friend as he moves quickly, picking up the now abandoned sword and giving her a smile of relief. “You really came through for me there, G. You’re the best.”

“I really am.” Humble, as always. “Now, go. We got this.”

The sound of metal clashing against metal is music to Rosa’s ears as she pushes another Royal Guard away, letting out an irritated huff as the punch he managed to land to her gut forces the air out of her lungs. A fellow villager from Beatra runs forward, grabbing the guard by his neck and dragging him backwards, tightening their grip until his legs slacken. 

Resting one hand against the stone wall, Rosa reaches for a replica of a knight - one of which stood on either side of the doorway - tugging until the sword it held gave way to her grip. She tightens her hands around it carefully, holding it high and close to her chest as she moves along the wall. From the nearby window she can see lit arrows flying through the air, and she knows that it signified the beginning of the attack to the castle’s exterior, having trained countless villagers on the art of perfect archery in the week leading up to this evening. 

_This._ This is what she had been waiting for. Her eyes rake over the room, watching the growing number of villagers take on the members of the Royal Guard, giving as good as they were getting as the desire for vengeance against all they have lost spurred them on. To her right, she sees Amy, one side of her perfectly tied back hairstyle falling down onto her shoulder as she lifts her knee into the waist of the man in front of her, pushing him down when he doubles over in pain. 

To her left, Rosa watches as Gina reaches for the spit still housing the boar, pushing with all her might until it gains momentum, crashing it into four men as they rush forwards, weapons at the ready with an unaware villager in their sights. The hot coals tumble out, scorching their skin as they scramble to pull away from the heat, and her beloved lets out a satisfied laugh. _That’s my girl._

She feels the heavy breath of a Royal Guard on her neck before she sees him, swinging her axe with a comfortable ease as she spins, landing the blade directly into his upper thigh as he drops to one knee, hand clutching his leg as he screams in agony. Rolling her eyes at his obvious display of weakness, she moves on, pushing against the swell of the crowd as she rushes to help another villager. 

It had been foolish of Pembroke’s kingdom to dismiss their people so easily, and she was revelling in the opportunity to finally show them what they were all capable of. 

The boots on Jake’s feet scuff the floor as he nears the doorway, dodging the elbow of a fellow villager as they reared back their fist in attack. It was safe to describe the scene within the hall as something akin to chaotic, and he needed to use the distraction to finally make his way to Charles, skeleton key burning in his pocket as he moves. 

He’s one more step closer to running through the halls when an overbearing figure appears, and inwardly he groans, a feeling of dread washing over him. For in front of him, with an irritatingly smug sneer across his face, stood The Vulture.

“You didn’t think I was going to let you leave without a proper fight now, did ya?” In his right hand he clutches a sword, slightly shorter than Jake’s, with a brass handle that Jake recognises from their days training for the guardianship. It’s one of Keith’s favourite possessions, and he grips it tightly now as he lords over Jake. 

“I’ve got to tell you, Keith, there’s more to that sword than just waving it around. Are you sure you wanna do this? I remember your training, you were never particularly good.” 

For the first time in a long time, Jake was lying through his teeth. Despite all his downfalls, if there is one thing that he had to begrudgingly admit, it was that when it came to swordsmanship, Sir Keith Pembroke was second to none. Throughout all of their planning, the knowledge of his battle skills had played with his mind, but there had been a larger hope that when it came to the crux of it all, the supposed king would simply turn and run in the opposite direction.

He should have known that if there was anything Pembroke would fight to the death for, it was his own reputation. 

“Your lies aren’t getting any better, Peralta. You brought this on yourself. And now, I’m going to end it.” He punctuates his last sentence with a swing of his sword, the blade catching the candle light as it comes dangerously close to Jake’s head - so close that he can hear the air make a soft swoosh as it grappled with the change in environment. He stumbles back quickly, raising his own sword and pushing it forwards until it clashes against Pembroke’s, the metals colliding with a clatter as both shifted their positions. He thrusts forward again, this time catching the base of the blade as Pembroke jumps back slightly, mouth twisting into a grimace as he fights to maintain the upper hand. 

What he didn’t know, and that Jake hadn’t alluded to anyone, was that once his nights were no longer filled with Amy and their night watch, he had stayed up with Boomer Maxwell, a villager of Truglia who’s excellent skills in marksmanship had earned him a reputation amongst his peers. With a wife at home nursing a newborn baby, Maxwell had not been willing to risk the future by joining the fight - but training was something that he could manage. As a result, Jake’s skills had increased exponentially, and in this moment with Pembroke, he was fast coming to realise that he now held the upper hand. 

Keith lets out a frustrated growl as he lunges forward again, clashing blades again and pushing with all his might against Jake’s sword as he struggles to hold his ground. Jake can see his muscles begin to shake against the cloak around his shoulders, and pushes to cement his stance like Maxwell taught him, staring Keith down as the fight for dominance continues. 

Digging deep, he pushes from his waist quickly - enough to make Keith stumble, and Jake takes advantage of the misstep, forcing the other sword away and raising his leg to kick the other man’s upper leg, propelling Keith further away as he struggles to regain his footing.

**“ENOUGH!”**

The voice is loud - authoritative and direct, with just enough volume to bring the racket to a stop. Jake swivels quickly towards the sound. He knows that voice. He’d followed its direction dutifully for so many years, and had mourned its loss when it disappeared in the night. 

He blinks at the sight before him, brows knitting in confusion, head shaking slightly in disbelief. 

King Holt stood before them all, high on the landing Pembroke had been standing on only moments before. His appearance was disheveled - clothes torn and stained, wrinkled beyond recovery. His eyes blinked repeatedly, as though struggling to process the room filled with candlelight, the dust and dirt of what was undoubtedly the result of captivity still obvious against his skin.

_He was alive. King Holt was ALIVE._

Beside him stood a worn-down version of Charles, a scraggly beard covering most of his face, his eyes scanning the crowd until they lock onto Jake’s, a triumphant grin bursting out as he points towards his newfound companion. A mixture of relief and pride run through him instantly, at the knowledge that not only was his best friend safe, he had also managed to reunite the kingdom with their rightful leader.

“I am sure that the majority of you are surprised with the developments that have occurred this evening. To avoid a myriad of questions, let me begin by confirming what you can already see. The reports of my death were greatly mistaken.” 

A hush runs through the crowd, many taking off their masks in disbelief as they stared at the man before them.

“I have been held against my will for the past hundred days, and you have all been misled to believe that Sir Keith was your new King. This, I can assure you, is incorrect information.”

For Jake, everything from there seems to be a blur.

He listens with a joyous grin as Holt reclaims his rightful title as True King of Brooklyne, ordering the warring villagers to cease and desist immediately - simultaneously thanking them for their honourable rise of civic duty. He watches as the remaining members of the Royal Guard bow dutifully, the shock still obvious on their face as they begin to follow Holt’s directions.

Then, he hears the Vulture’s voice in his ear - a smug snarl of “I always get the last word, Peralta”, followed by the white-hot sensation of cold metal piercing his skin, skimming the protective chain mail underneath his coat and plunging in.

He turns slightly, confused by the development, hands reaching for the sudden pain in his side. 

He sees Pembroke being dragged away by his former guards, dropping his sword to the ground with a clatter as they grab his elbows and pull backwards. Charles, brows furrowing, pointing a finger in his direction, mouth frozen in shout as he pushes away from King Holt.

Amy, eyes wide in horror, pushing her way through the crowd as she runs towards him.

He falls to his knees, his body feeling oddly heavy against his kneecaps. His head feels weightless in contrast, and he leans back until suddenly his shoulder is on the floor and everything seems a lot further away. 

Amy lands next to him and he tries to call out her name, reaching out for her hand as this weightless feeling begins to take over his body. Her mouth is moving, but he can’t make out the words, and all he knows is that his eyelids feel so very heavy. He decides to close them, just for a minute. 

_Just for a minute._

And just like that, everything fades to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry!
> 
> (There's more to come soon, I promise!)
> 
> Thank you to every one of you who have left comments/kudos/general rays of sunshine for me to see. They mean more than I can say. This fic has taken hold of me, and I can only pray that you love it as much as I do! Y'all are _amazing!_
> 
> (chapter title from The White Stripes - Seven Nation Army. A classic.)


	4. so say the unsayable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her father had told her that hindsight brings a sharper reality, and (as usual) he was correct. Because Amy has since realised, that when there is a man standing in front of you in the rain, pouring out his heart while the clouds pour out their tears, you throw away the doubts and tell him the absolute truth - that you feel the same way, and there is nothing in the world that would ever change that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here it is - the final instalment of this medieval au that went from a tiny prompt into (what felt like) an epic story. 
> 
> I truly, truly hope that you have enjoyed it - I have loved shared this with you, and have a newfound appreciation for those who write this genre.

****

#  **we won’t run (we can fight)**

### so say the unsayable, say the most human of things

_No._

Amy’s feet cannot move fast enough, hands dropping her weapon as she pushes members of the crowd aside. Rushing forward, desperate to get to Jake. _No, no, no._

Gina’s voice breaks through the deafening silence. “We need Lord Terry! Where is he?”

“Lord Terry?”

“Yes! He is the Giver of Life! Jake needs him.” Despite her hazy thoughts, Amy vaguely remembers hearing about a man from Jeffords Junction, a province near Brooklyne but just outside its borders. _All hail Lord Terry_ , was the common call to arms.

Countless people are now shouting around her, suggesting various locations of this mysterious Lord, but Amy hears nothing bar the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears as she gets closer to Jake, eyes welling with tears when she finds him on the floor. Red surrounds him, and it is _not_ the tapestry. _NO, NO, NO._ His face looks pale, lips whispering her name as he reaches for her hand. The shouting gets closer, and their hands link just as Jake’s eyelids begin to flutter close. 

Her head begins to shake as his grip weakens, hers tightening in response. “Come on, Jake.” _It isn’t supposed to end like this._ “Stay with me.”

A bulky man rushes down next to her, gentle hands pushing her slightly to the side as he leans over Jake, careful eyes surveying the damage as he begins shouting out orders to the others. Still, Amy hears nothing, mind focused solely on the man in front of her, eyes trained on the lips that she still hasn’t had the chance to kiss. 

His skin grows paler, and his eyes close completely. 

_It cannot end like this._

Rosa crouches down next to her, a surprisingly gentle arm wrapping around her shoulder in an act of comfort, and the tears begin to fall. “This can’t … he can’t ..” Amy whispers, looking up at Rosa, desperate for any kind of miracle to appear.

“I know.” Rosa replies, pulling her closer briefly before standing, tugging Amy upwards as more people come forward, clutching the items that Lord Terry has called for. 

They turn Jake’s body to one side, pushing cotton against the wound, and Amy watches with blurring eyes as the material rapidly turns from taupe to red. The hand that once held hers now lies limp to the side, fingers still stretched out in her direction, and she drops to her knees once again, gripping onto him in a futile attempt to bring him back from his current state.

“We need to move him.” The same voice breaks through her thoughts, and this time Amy turns her head towards the sound. The man she now knows to be Lord Terry is crouched beside her, hands moving quickly to wrap cloth around Jake’s torso as the bleeding refuses to stop. She realises that in the flurry of activity that she has yet to acknowledge him, and she takes a moment to catch her breath, mumbling a soft _thank you_ to him. Santiagos, after all, _never_ forget their manners.

He turns, nodding grimly at her as his hands push down on the material. “No problem. Terry can see he’s important to you.”

She wipes away her tears with her spare hand. “He’s everything to me.”

He holds her gaze for another moment, nodding again slowly before glancing up at the villagers that have come to his aid. “We need to get him to a bed immediately.”

The group move quickly, gathering up his limp body as Amy’s heartbeat goes into overdrive, pounding for both her and Jake as they lead his body away. She falls into step behind them, prepared to follow him wherever until a steady hand drops to her shoulder and she turns to see King Holt beside her.

“I understand from your appearance that you are feeling a series of very strong emotions right now.”

Amy stands in shocked silence, temporarily mute as the awe of being in the same airspace as her one true King takes over. His eyebrows quirk up, a silent request for a response, and she nods quickly. 

“I thought you might take comfort from the knowledge that Lord Terry is the greatest healer that Brooklyne has ever seen. Not to mention that Sir Jacob was easily the finest member of my Royal Guard. There is no doubt in my mind that he will not be taken down by the sword of somebody as inconsequential as Sir Keith.”

A few more tears roll down her face, and she pushes them away quickly, giving her ruler a grateful smile as her eyes move back to the archway the villagers had carried Jake through.

“It has come to my attention that it was both yourself and Jacob that began the fracas this evening. Is that correct?”

Lowering her head, Amy nods. “Forgive me, your majesty, for it was my idea. Together we had led the villagers to the castle so that we could take on Pembroke. We had no idea that - ”

A hand is raised in protest. “There is no need to apologise, Lady ..?”

“Santiago. Lady Amelia Santiago.” She drops into a tiny curtsy.

“Lady Santiago. You have done exemplary work this evening, and I apologise for interrupting your plans. But I hope that the end result was to your satisfaction.”

“Oh, absolutely. But, sir …”. Her eyes turn back towards the doorway, feeling the pull of her heart growing stronger the further the men moved Jake away from her.

“Go to him, Amelia. You obviously belong together. But come see me, when you are done. The kingdom deserves to have somebody like you speaking for them, and I believe I have just the right role for you.”

A tiny shimmer of excitement blossoms in Amy’s chest, and she smiles as her king, knees bending into another curtsy before racing after Lord Terry and his helpers. The future, perhaps, held promise. But none of it would matter if it came at the cost of her heart. 

The fire in the lantern she holds casts a shadow on the dirt below as Amy walks through the forest, flickering poses of dancing demons scurrying along the ground as the trees surrounding her grow larger. The ordinarily blue skies of Brooklyne have been grey to Amy’s eyes for days now (a dullness that cannot be blamed on the season), and even now as the night begins to fall, she already knows that tomorrow will be the same. They’re all the same, because without his laughter, these days are only filled with darkness.

It has been ten days since the ball at Brooklyne Castle, and ten days since she has seen Jake’s smile. 

Each day has been filled with a mounting number of lonely seconds, watching the light make a path across his bedside as she holds his hand and tells him all the stories she can think of. Some that he’s heard her tell already, others that are new - all holding the same thread that Amy would open her entire world to Jake, if she only had another chance. In the quieter moments, when his mother or Charles come by, she wanders along the corridors of the castle, practicing different versions of the same speech she intends to give Jake, if he were to just _wake up_. And when night fell and the palace retired, she would find herself back on the platform where it all began.

The wound was shallow, Lord Terry had explained. Her mind that night had been a deluge of terrifying thoughts as all of her fears and doubts came rushing to the surface, but she remembers that - remembers the relief on his face when he stepped back and told her that Jake would be fine, that _he just needed time._

A part of her should be grateful, she supposes, that Pembroke’s strike turned out to be just a shallow as his personality - but truthfully, the only thing she is thankful for is the feel of Jake’s steady heartbeat on his wrist as she holds his hand in hers, day after day. 

Except for today, that is. Because today, her frustratingly perfect brother David had earned himself yet another honour from the highest court, and Amy (along with the rest of her family) had needed to travel to the further province of Goora in order to watch him claim his accolade. It had been a long and tedious day, travelling by horse and cart for longer than she cared to acknowledge, and her mind had been focused on Jake the entire time. This was the first day that she hadn’t been by his side, and her legs had been itching to run back to the castle with every passing minute. 

They had not long returned to the Santiago home before she had packed up a bag, grabbing a lantern and walking away with determined steps as she moved through the forest. It was too late to expect visitation to the castle now, and if she couldn’t be physically next to Jake, she knew only one other place that would suffice. 

Amy pauses briefly as she passes the tree that merged their two paths, staring at the middle branch that had been used to signal safety on most days. Not for the first time she feels a longing for the time that had seemed so much simpler - days when the battle was still a distant threat, and most of her nights were spent watching over the world with Jake by her side.

She has put herself through hours of self admonishment - mentally chastising herself over and over for not asking the right questions, for not acknowledging her feelings when she had the chance. Her father had told her that hindsight brings a sharper reality, and (as usual) he was correct. Because Amy has since realised, that when there is a man standing in front of you in the rain, pouring out his heart while the clouds pour out their tears, you throw away the doubts and tell him the absolute truth - that you feel the same way, and there is nothing in the world that would ever change that.

Instead, he lies in a bed in Brooklyne Castle, sleeping as his body fights to recover from conflict, completely unaware that Amy is in love with him. And the thought of Jake leaving this world without knowing how loved he was - how loved he is - was more than Amy could bear. And so she continued to the platform he built for them, eager to find some connection to him on this grey afternoon.

Holt watches from his position by the window as the people of Brooklyne line up outside the castle, waiting for their turn to collect the possessions Pembroke and his men had ripped from them during his reign of terror. There was a definitive sense of joy in the air - like the warm rays of sun on your face after months of rain. He watches as Sir Adrian reaches the front of the line, grabbing his weaponry back with joy as he reaches towards the sky, letting out a cathartic scream before running back towards his home in Beatra. 

He lets out a soft chuckle. This was why he had never given up, even in his darkest hours holed up in the dungeon.

“Raymond.” A familiar voice causes him to turn, eyebrows raising skyward. 

“Kevin? You have returned.”

“Yes. I came as soon as I heard. Begged to be let on to the next available ship. We managed to catch a decent wind within the sails on most days, but I’m afraid it still took me a long time to return.” His husband pauses, eyes running up and down Holt’s figure carefully. “Even longer, with the news of my beloved’s sudden passing weighing heavily on my shoulders.”

“Yes. That news was inaccurate.’

“So I see."

He takes three steps instead of five, moving quickly to be closer to the man whom he would share a thousand years with, if it were only possible. Reaching out his right hand to meet Kevin’s, their thumbs bump into each other briefly before their palms meet in a familiar handshake. (A public display of affection that was perhaps a little _too_ passionate, but it had been several months, and he had missed him dearly.)

“Oh Kevin, how I missed you.”

“And I you, Raymond.”

“Your majesty?” Sir Charles’ voice breaks through their bubble, and the two men turn towards the sound. “I’m sorry for interrupting. But you have a visitor.”

“Ah. By all means, Sir Charles, allow them to enter.” After their escape that evening, both Holt and Boyle’s relationship had grown stronger. Charles was now one of his most trusted advisors - still a member of the Royal Guard, but in a much higher rank. Despite the circumstances, Holt knew that Boyle was beyond relieved to be reunited with his best friend, and had been quick to appoint him to a role that allowed him greater access to the castle - and by rights, more opportunity to see Jake while he recovered.

Charles bows slightly, gesturing towards the as yet unknown intruder and encouraging them to enter. He watches Holt with a careful eye as Madeline Wuntch turns the corner, a sour grimace already stretched across her face.

Holt blinks before turning back towards Charles. “I am sorry, Sir Charles, I must have misunderstood you. I thought you said I had a visitor. Obviously, you were trying to bring my attention to an apparent rat infestation. Please, organise for an exterminator at once.”

“Oh, Raymond. When will you give up on these silly little games?”

He reaches out to his husband, raising a hand to his shoulder in warning. “Avert your eyes, gentlemen! It appears to be able to take on other forms!”

Wuntch sighs. “Are you done?”

“Never. What do you want, Madeline?”

“Your so called guards have finally decided to release me. I’m here for my possessions.”

“You were never held captive, Madeline. Unlike myself. You were healing, after that nasty incident with an urn suddenly falling onto your head.”

“Still cultivating the lie that you and your henchman didn’t attack me, I see.”

“It was lucky you were recovered by the guards at all, to be honest. You look just as pale and lifeless now as you did then, so I would not have blamed them if they had simply disposed of your body.” The woman rolls her beady eyes, and Raymond continues to storm through the silence.

“Furthermore, the only lie here is the notion that you have any possessions left to collect. Everything that you claimed to own had been stolen from one of our many villagers, and they are all in the process of being returned.” He takes a step forward, the blue velvet of his coat catching the last bits of sunlight as he moves away from the window. “Stop embarrassing yourself, Madeline, and take the opportunity to walk away before I humiliate you like I have Pembroke.” 

“Ah, yes. Pembroke. What ever did become of that man?” Kevin asks, breaking into the conversation with a curious look on his face.

“He is not a man. He is a joke. And I have treated him as such.”

“Raymond?”, a startled tone creeping into his husband’s steady voice.

“I have taken his feeble attempt to take over a kingdom, and turned it into a cautionary tale for people across the land to learn. If Pembroke is so obsessed with publicity and image, far be it for me to keep any of this a secret.” Holt shrugs, turning his attention back to Madeline. “He is, therefore, welcome to live out his days of humiliation amongst the villagers, knowing that he has become the laughing stock of the entire province.” 

From beside him, Kevin nods. “Ah. It would seem as though all of the king’s horses and all of the kings men, could never put Pembroke back together again.”

“Precisely.”

Wuntch lets out a huff of frustration, balling her tiny hands into fists. “Enough with this pointless garbage. Return my property at once, Raymond.”

“Very well, Madeline. You may live, like Pembroke, amongst the villagers you once stole from. Your living will be no more than mediocre, and your possessions will consist of only what you can make, unless it is given. There are some rags by the exit, you are welcome to do what you will with them. Given that rats have been known to make their nests from textiles, I trust you will be able to create something to your usual low standard.”

The woman rushes forward, squaring her shoulders in defiance as she stands face to face with Holt. “I WANT WHAT I AM OWED.”

“You. _Have_. _LOST_ , Madeline.” Holt raises himself up, glaring down at his nemesis and raising his voice. “You and your foolish associate stole the crown, and behaved so poorly that the very people under your control stole it right back. The game is over, and you have not won. You will never beat me, and it is high time that you end these ridiculous games and admit defeat.”

She stares him down, and from his position he raises one hand, gesturing at two of the remaining members of the Royal Guard. They scuttle forward quickly, gripping Wuntch by the wrists as they pull her away.

Holt rolls his eyes skyward at her dramatic exit, and Sir Charles steps forward again with an awkward cough.

“Your majesty, I also come bearing good news, if you would be so willing.”

“Of course, Charles. Regale us with a tale of happiness, to cleanse our palate of the sour taste of vermin.”

He nods before breaking into a smile. “It’s Sir Jacob, your majesty. He woke up this afternoon.”

Holt mirrors Boyle’s smile with his own, relief warming his chest. “Ah! This is good news, indeed. And his health?”

“He is perfectly fine, all thanks to Lord Terry. Still a little bandaged up, but awake and smiling nonetheless.”

“What an overwhelmingly satisfying result to a difficult situation. Lead the way, Sir Charles - we will borrow Jacob’s time with a short visit before we retire to our chamber. My husband has travelled a substantial distance today, and is undoubtedly in need of a rest.”

Charles drops his eyes to his feet, scuffing the stone with the tip of his shoe. “Well … I’m sorry, your majesty, but Sir Jacob has already left.”

“Oh?”

“Going against the advice of Sir Terry, mind you, but … yes. He told me that there was something far more important than his recovery, and left before I had the chance to confer with others.”

“Ah. I see. I have a feeling we both know where he was headed.”

“Yes, sir. He told me that he felt a pull towards her, and couldn’t stay still for another moment.”

Holt turns towards Kevin, lifting one corner of his mouth in a gentle smile as his eyes roam over his husband. “Yes, I believe I know what he means.”

Jake lets out a quiet groan as he lifts himself further up the ladder he built, grounding his feet against the rungs as he ascends quickly. 

When he had finally woken up today, in an unfamiliar bed inside a once familiar castle, he had been met with an indescribable need to see Amy. Her terrified face running towards him, hand outstretched towards his, was the last memory he had of that night - and when Lord Terry entered his room shortly afterwards, and told him that it had been ten days since that fateful evening, Jake could feel his desperation to see her grow.

There’s something to be said for near-death experiences. For despite all he went through, there was now an undeniable clarity to Jake’s mind. He knew before that he loved Amy, but as he lay there blinking in confusion at the thatched roof above, he was hit with the unequivocal knowledge of just _how much_ he loved her - and that he would do whatever it would take, just to stay in her orbit. For she was his universe: the light amongst all the darkness; the shining beacon that guided him home when all else seemed helpless.

The restrictive bandaging and lingering threats of sedation from Terry had proved no match for Jake’s determination, and before the day had grown too old he was walking free - leaning in for a relieved thank-goodness-you’re-safe hug with Charles before he slowly made his way down the cobblestone path that joined the castle grounds to the rest of Brooklyne.

With the light beginning to fade as the sun sank lower, Jake hobbled towards their signal tree, thoroughly searching each branch for some indication that Amy had been there: that she was waiting for him, and wanted him to know that it was safe to continue. There were no signs - but still, Jake surged on, safety the least of concerns when the threat of a life without Amy loomed. He had to try. Even if he had to wait forever, he would wait for her. And he could think of no other place to do so than the shelter he had built for them, high above it all.

The sky was significantly darker by the time he’d reached his destination, and for a moment he believed his eyes to be playing tricks on him when he sees the outline of a figure resting against the edge of the platform. He blinks, pulling himself to rest completely on the planks, paying little attention to the screams coming from his wound as he moves closer to the mysterious guest. If he didn’t know better, he would swear it was Amy. But … could it be?

She turns, and her chocolate coloured eyes shine in the darkness. “Ames?”

“Jake? You're ... here?! You’ve left the castle?”

He nods quickly, twisting his torso until he rests on one side, giving his scar the reprieve it has been screaming for. “This afternoon.”

Her whole body turns towards him, tucking her legs underneath as she takes in his sudden presence. “And you came here?”

“Almost straight away.” He pauses, running a hand quickly through his hair. “I … I checked for signals first. You didn’t leave anything.”

“No. I mean … I didn’t know you would be coming.”

Careful to keep his tone gentle, Jake leans forward, resting one hand on the platform in the space between them. “You must realise by now, Ames. There is no place I’d rather be.”

She bites her lip, smiling at him before tucking her hair behind her ear. 

“Have you … have you come here a lot, while I was recovering?”

“I was at your bedside every day bar today, and I’ve been here every night.” She begins, voice soft as she raises her head towards the sky. “There isn’t a single star in the sky that I haven’t wished on, praying for your safe return. It’s been so quiet without you here.” She drops her head, turning back to him with eyes that glisten with unshed tears. “I know this probably sounds like a lot, but I’ve missed you more than I can even say.”

_It’s not a lot,_ he wants to cry out. She could talk to him forever, and it would never be enough. And then she’s reaching for him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him in for a hug. It was the closest they had been since the dance floor of the castle, and he rests his hands against her waist, breathing her in as he feels everything inside him reset. 

Reluctantly, he pulls away, hiding a wince as he settles back against the platform. “Boyle filled me in on everything that went down after Pembroke got to me. Holt is King again, and Pembroke is gone.” He smiles at her, returning his hand to its earlier position between them. “You really did it, Ames. Your plan worked."

She nods, looking back towards the castle. “Yeah, I guess it did.”

“And he told me that Holt wants to bring you into the Royal Commission? Become the voice of the people? That’s amazing, Amy. And when I go back to the Royal Guard, we can … hang out again. Things could be like they were before.”

“Jake … wait.”

“It’ll be just like old times, except this time we’re not watching -”

_“Jake.”_

He stops.

“I don’t want things to go back to what they were.”

His heart sinks to his feet, air escaping his lungs as he looks over at her, confused. “Ames?”

“I mean, for all intents and purposes, the night was a total success. Holt returned, Pembroke was dragged away … and while there are some things I definitely would have liked to avoid - ”

“Me getting stabbed, for example?”

“That’s _one_ of them, yeah. But theres something bigger than all of that.”

“ … Okay?”

“That afternoon, when you stood in front of me and told me how you felt …” Amy pauses, reaching out for Jake’s hand as his face begins to flush. He takes it gratefully, giving her a sheepish smile as he waits for her to continue. “I was under the impression that you were betrothed to someone else. And you telling me that you loved me, when you were promised to another, just didn’t make sense.”

“Wait … all this time, you thought that I belonged to somebody else?”

Amy nods, eyes wide with sincerity.

_“Who?”_

“Ah … Sophia. Of Peretta. I overheard some girls talking in a local tavern, and foolishly I took their words to be truthful. It was so stupid of me, I -”

“Hold on. You thought I was engaged to be married to Sophia of Peretta?”

Amy lets out a frustrated huff. “Yes, Jake. That’s what I heard, and at the time, it made sense.”

“Ames. Sophia is nice. We’re even similar in a lot of ways. But … there’s no way I could promise myself to her.”

“No?”

“Not a chance. I mean, she seems like she would be a great partner, and yeah, she’s …” he pauses, taking a heavy swallow as he hesitates. “There’s no way she could even hold a candle to you. And I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. I know you want to be friends, and I totally, totally get it. But you have to understand, I could never be with her. There’s no way I could be with anyone other than … well.” He clears his throat. “It doesn’t matter.”

Squeezing his fingers, Amy ducks her head slightly. “I think it might. These past few days have taught me the importance of saying how I feel, while I still have the chance.”

“You’re kinda making me nervous here, Ames.”

Amy blushes, closing the gap between them a little more as she shuffles forward. “I’m sorry. I’ve gone through so many quills going over this, and I thought that I had figured out the perfect way to say what I needed to say …. And now it’s all just disappeared from my head completely.”

He takes a heavy swallow, preparing himself to say something he never thought he would hear himself say. “How … how about you just speak from the heart?”

She looks over him and nods, biting her lower lip. “You’re right.” A deep breath. “Okay. Here goes.”

Jake sits in silence, knowing that if there was ever a time in his life when he needed to pay attention, it was _right now._

She leans her head back, moonlight bathing her face as she stares at the stars. “It was foolish, really, for me to pin all of my hopes on these tiny little sparks of light.”

Wetting his lips, he cocks a curious eyebrow. “How so?”

She continues. “And I should have realised this so much earlier than I did. Should have told you, the first time I felt my heart flutter at your smile, or the first time I could feel your hand near mine, hours after we had parted. But I was scared, and foolish, and now I fear that I’ve wasted too much time. I should have seen it.” She stops, dropping her chin until her eyes are once again level with his. “I should have realised, that every star in that night sky just held another reason for me to love you.”

Jake’s heart jumps into his throat, pummelling wildly in the confined space as a heavy silence hung between them. This was everything that he had ever hoped for, laying out in front of him. And it was terrifying that something so incredible could finally be happening to somebody like him. “Do … do you really mean that?”

Amy nods, one hand reaching out to rest against his chest, willing his heart to return to its original position if for no other reason than to experience her touch. “I love you, Jake Peralta. You came out of nowhere and completely stole my heart. I love everything about you. You stood by and let me fight my war, holding me up when so many others would have found a way to push me down. I cannot imagine how any of this would have gone without you beside me.”

HIs hand rests against hers, squeezing gently. “You would have kicked ass, Ames. With or without me.”

A solitary tear escapes, rolling down her cheek unbidden. “You see what I mean? You were never looking to save me, or to change what I was planning. You were just there by my side, ready to help me save Brooklyne, and … maybe even safe _myself_ a little bit. You made me laugh, when there were so many reasons to cry. You are kind, and selfless, and everything that I need. And all of this comes back to the most indisputable of truths - that I love you, more than I have ever loved anything in my entire life. You are the best part of my day, and the thought of a life without you is just unbearable.” 

Jake wants to pinch himself as he listens to Amy speak, voicing all of the things that once upon a time he would have only been able to wish to hear. It seemed impossible, for a woman as beautiful as her, to be saying such incredible things. But he can see the sincerity in her eyes, hear the conviction in her voice. And he begins to believe that maybe love has finally found its way to him.

“Ames,” he begins with a nervous gulp. “All of this has literally been the greatest thing I have ever heard. I almost didn’t want to believe that somebody like you could ever want to be with someone like me. But you have to know, Amy, that I love you too. I meant everything that I said that day in the rain, and that will never change. There could never be anybody else that could grab a hold of my heart the way you have.” He holds her hand tightly inside his, already knowing that he doesn’t ever want to let go again.

“You are courageous, and intelligent, and so incredibly _beautiful_. God … this doesn’t need to happen right now, or ever, if you didn’t want it to, but … if you would be so willing, Amy, I would marry you. Whether it was in front of the entire kingdom, or in the privacy of our trees. Anywhere, any place, any time - I would marry you a hundred times over, if it meant that you were there beside me. There is not a single fragment of my life that I can imagine without you in it. You are the best thing in my life, and I would work so very hard every single day to prove my worthiness to you. I love you, Amy Santiago, with every fibre of my being.”

Their knees brush as she pulls herself closer to him, tears now falling in a steady stream down her face as she nods to everything Jake has said. Her spare hand moves to cup his face, thumb gently tracing his jawline as their heads move closer together. "I would marry you too, Jacob. I would be _so proud_ to be yours forever."

Their lips brush, and Jake takes in a deep breath. “I should probably warn you. Once this happens, and I get to hold you in my arms - _really hold you_ ... I’m not sure that I’m ever going to be able to let you go. There’s so much riding on this, Ames. On you and me. It ... it’s everything.”

She pulls back slightly, locking her eyes onto his before speaking. “I don’t want you to ever let me go, Jake.” 

His heart is pounding, and his stomach is doing somersaults, but still Jake leans forward, closing the gap between them and landing his lips against hers.

It would be many more years before the brothers Grimm (and with them, the notion of a fairytale) would even exist - and by default, the idea of the Perfect Kiss. But as they get lost in the moment, and all that seems to remain is the loud pounding of their hearts to the same beat, it is clear that their story was going to be one for the ages.

She feels his lips curve up against hers as they part, unable to hold back the smile as the sheer joy of them finally being together proves too much to contain. They pause for a second, foreheads resting against the other before diving back in for another kiss. 

The sky would turn a delicate pink with the rising rays of sunlight before they would part again. For they would spend that night, and all the nights forevermore, in each other’s arms, safe in the knowledge that the world would never be able to provide a greater alternative. 

And perhaps they would, in fact, live happily ever after. Perhaps the realm that they had fought so hard for its freedom would cultivate into the happiest years of their lives. Years filled with laughter and love, children and grandchildren. And no matter the obstacle, nothing would or could ever change that.

For you see, what they had was greater than any story that could ever be told, stronger than anything that would try to tear them apart. 

Together, they were Jake and Amy, and that was all they needed to take on the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (chapter title from Gang of Youths)
> 
> Oh how I have loved writing this. @swirlsofbluejay I'm so sorry that it turned into the giant story that it did (and that it took so long to finish!), but I hope you enjoyed it all the same!
> 
> Special thanks to @kamelea, @drowninginmyworries, @startofamoment and @kufikiria for all your help while I wrote this. None of it would have gone as far as it did without your assistance! 🙌🏼💕😃
> 
> ~~This may not ever be a popular fic for me, but~~ it has been a labour of love, and I'm so grateful for those who have come along for the ride. All of your comments/kudos etc have helped me more than I can say. ❤️ Thank you, so very much.


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